There is a tale,

Of weaved words,

That died,

Before reaching my trembling lips.

A cold tale that creeps,

Through the faint open doors,

Of my eyes.

A tale, suppressed,

Begging me, sometimes you.

A tale, crippled,

In dire need for its voice.

A tale of dancing words,

Embracing each other,

In their open arms.

A tale,

Stripped of words,

Yet filled to brim,

With confused affection.

A tale,

Diffusing through the air,

Like a faint scent,

Of spring morning.

The scent,

Without words,

But with pleasure,

That creeps through the pores,

Of our open skin.

A tale of wonders,

Of secrets that can’t be hid,

Despite persistent cloaking.

A tale of unyielding storm,

A tale,

Whispered,

Beneath raggedy breathes,

By you,

And,

By me.

**

Via Daily Prompt: Explore

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