In Her Grip

Smells like the rain
Torrential downpours
And the aftertaste of lightning.
Looks like twilight
The darkening sky
Teetering on the edge of time.
Sounds like A natural to F sharp
Up an octave
Pounding through my ears.
Is cool to the touch
Like metal on railroad tracks
Beckoning to lands unknown.
Loves like the silken moon
Spattered against a navy sky
Fingers entwined beneath it.
Is not
A brown classroom
Fake yellow lighting
A tousled bed
Closed windows
Peeling wallpaper
Dress code
Refraining from public affection
Broken promises
Stress over tomorrow,
Adventure can never be
Stress over tomorrow.
For adventure,
True adventure,
Is today.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s