He consumes my entire heart like a wave greedily carrying out the shore and all the treasures buried inside of it.
He predicts me - in all of my unpredictability - he reads me like a Sunday paper, smudging through crisp, inky pages. Scanning, gathering all of the important information then holding it inside his vault-like heart.
He knows my every irrational insecurity. He senses my sadness from contactless distance and he makes me smile through years of salty tears with just a few words.
Southern Comfort.
Mountain Soul.
He fits me like a custom made glove, so different from my skin yet such a perfect fit. Stitched together so neatly, tightly — gently.
Southern Comfort.
Mountain Man.
He has my heart in the palm of his hands.
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Author:
Laynie Cooper (
Offline) - Published: February 11th, 2019 10:23
- Category: Love
- Views: 9
- Users favorite of this poem: Sunshinefalling
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Comments2
Truly musical. I love the use of imagery.
Thank you.
Very nice
Thank you B.
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