poppystrike

My afternoon.
You sleep under me in the safety of isolation from your deeds.
In annum I shall be raised to a level unreachable.
Stack tables, chairs, mistakes.
A mountain.
Ice pick blunt, you slide towards piercing enlightenment.
I'll manouver that beam with grace.
On the swing you'll admire my high-backed shoulders.
And the hair covering your stars.

It sounds sad, but actually they are very peaceful words to me xXx