I thought that it was him.
The sweet syrup words that I wanted so desperately
to coat my ears and fuel my heart.
Just a morsel of verse to satiate
the pangs
and bites
of famine.
And when I ingested those honey phrases
they filled my hopelessly horribly romantic being
to the brim.
But that was not near as filling
as the cherry hue
that made my face full
when I realized that those
confection affections
were not of him, but of another.
A sickly sweet ploy
To make me love the boy.
Instead, I hunger for his empty words.
I thought that it was him.
(June 3, 2012)
The sweet syrup words that I wanted so desperately
to coat my ears and fuel my heart.
Just a morsel of verse to satiate
the pangs
and bites
of famine.
And when I ingested those honey phrases
they filled my hopelessly horribly romantic being
to the brim.
But that was not near as filling
as the cherry hue
that made my face full
when I realized that those
confection affections
were not of him, but of another.
A sickly sweet ploy
To make me love the boy.
Instead, I hunger for his empty words.
I thought that it was him.
(June 3, 2012)
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