Est. December 27, 2009
I hear Picasso, and I taste the music we binged to on our ways home.
I smell our memories; the mint on your breath at the end of a long night, in plastic seats, surrounded by strangers.
When I think of you I see rhythm.
I hear the light shine from your smile, and I taste the longing for more time together.
I smell a future obstructed by reality; the laughter and shameless singing of music, side by side, in leather seats searching for adventure.
When I think of you I see perfection.
I hear your voice echo across the pond, and I taste the mint on my breath.
I smell your perfume; it lingers on my shirt as I walk back to my apartment, in borrowed clothes, to sleep surrounded by strangers.
Poetry by Phill
Read 810 times
Written on 2016-09-21 at 21:09
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How It Feels
When I think of you I see poetry.I hear Picasso, and I taste the music we binged to on our ways home.
I smell our memories; the mint on your breath at the end of a long night, in plastic seats, surrounded by strangers.
When I think of you I see rhythm.
I hear the light shine from your smile, and I taste the longing for more time together.
I smell a future obstructed by reality; the laughter and shameless singing of music, side by side, in leather seats searching for adventure.
When I think of you I see perfection.
I hear your voice echo across the pond, and I taste the mint on my breath.
I smell your perfume; it lingers on my shirt as I walk back to my apartment, in borrowed clothes, to sleep surrounded by strangers.
Poetry by Phill
Read 810 times
Written on 2016-09-21 at 21:09
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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Melissa Ormond |
| Texts |
 by Phill Latest textsSomething Less Than PoetryScar Tissue Musings #349 Musings #328 Musings #327 |
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