Have you ever seen words
That pierce the heart like arrows,
Or a nest inhabiting not birds,
But a crowd of bedfellows?
Maybe, just maybe a yes.
I met her on the sunshine of March.
Perhaps shining, but she was an angel of mess.
She seemed a perfect match
With glows of the august colours of petals.
Her aura defined betrayal’s serenity,
For her beauty portrayed meaning of lethal
Outlining its sin to love’s eternity.
She made my heart bleed
the inks of a wailing quill