Anita Magdalena

Anita Magdalena

Friday, 15 November 2013

Flat-Line.




I flat-line on the page 
swig the bottle of ink
until it runs through my veins
permeating my mental mourning
awaking the dormant sanctuary of words
lighting up my dusty diction


pen dreams of the man
I've yet to meet
His eyelashes
cast spider leg shadows
down his cheeks
heart shaped lips
in need of quenching
pale complexion
heightening the dark half moons
under his piercing eyes


liquorice flavour lingers in my mouth
I want to  share it with him
Feared love that races past my heart
let his fingers travel like vines over me
His cloak of darkness and mystery
playing with my crumbling resilience
to never fall in love again


and I create with my swallowed ink


he touches my mind
with compelling whispers
his bloodline sketched in haunting worlds
I inhale the scent of his history
it plays behind my cinema screen eyes
my fingers cling to the curve of his spine
I am falling
spiraling into his invitation
and I write our wings of flight.   

Written by Anita Magdalena.....