Night Magic

Night magic.
His essence like pixie dust
When the moon casts a serene light
Through the window pane

His touch like a butterfly’s gentle wing
Brushing your fragile flesh
A midsummer afternoon

His whispers like promises
Meant to be kept
You cherish them like a diamond ring

Morning truth.

Promises thrown into the wind
With the rising sun
When harsh reality sets in

His touch like a dream
You wish you’d woken up from sooner
Making your skin crawl

His scent on your skin
Like regret
You drown it in perfume


About savannahlyn

I write to articulate what my tongue cannot
This entry was posted in morning, night, poetry, romance, spilled ink. Bookmark the permalink.

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