• lady_midnight 67w

    I've often wished to be a muse, carved into his poetry. A sonnet perhaps, reflected in perfect symmetry of phrases and rhymes.

    His muscular hands caressing my cheek softly and the ink falling in cascades on the fair skinned parchment.
    His thumbs trace the outline of my lips and the pen etches aching sighs. His name rolls down my tongue, stealthily.
    He murmurs kisses along my neck and quickens the pace of his words alike my erratic heartbeats.
    Fire breathes beneath my skin, and his hands bend it into passion betwixt his words.

    I've ventured beyond a poetry now, he says.
    He calls me a masterpiece like none, entrapped forever in his heart.

    ©lady_midnight

    #writersnetwork #mirakee

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