In my most desperate breath,
It escapes unharmed,
Sifting through time,
Catching whirlwinds on my tongue.
A butterflies song,
Entwines the paper blossoms light,
Charming its silhouette,
With the darkest flutters of Illusia.
Today my mind is calm,
With wicked tangrams of ancient architecture,
She builds her stories on verbs of teardrops,
Lending the stars to the winters music.
A morning whisper,
On the verge of December decay,
An embrace torn in two,
A widow for sleepless dreams,
Subsided by the unwoven memory.
Unfolding rapture,
Desolate in its own crowded corner,
Mocking my misery with lavished artistry,
The whispers grow louder,
Boisterous,
I can only hear the depth of solitude,
Here I perch,
Solely,
Misconstrued by my chains,
I watch you with discontent.
©Ashley Leslie 2013
