Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Mo Bhean

My sweet dream,

like a lilac sky, spied by hopeful lovers,

the softness of silk on exhausted skin,

the roaring, rapturous cries of the sea as she bows to the moon’s will,

a single poppy in a field of trauma.

You are my escape,

opiate opportunity,

infinite,

endlessly adored by the one that you have enchanted,

and you smile, with no idea of the seismic consequences of such an action,

soft, stray strands of hair falling over your eyes,

hypnotic,

harmful.

Such a dangerous gaze you hold,

with no idea of the power that it wields,

and what it does to a poor girl like me,

that has never seen the likes of you before.

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