Who is she?
I have no thoughts of tearing off her clothes, but plucking them off delicately like petals on a flower as if she was that fragile.
What she wears is so intricate and thin, like a veil she keeps wrapped around her entire body.
A voice like a whisper, and fierce lips. As if she truly wants to kill me softly.
Her hair draping over her eyelashes just barely... but she proceeds like there is no care in the world and no demon to hide.
Dances with grace, and complexity across a room like she is a part of the French ballet.
Share This Poem
This Poems Story
In the workplace. Of someone who doesn’t speak.