This is a small piece I wrote without any real intention behind it. I'm looking to possibly develop it into a poem but at the moment I quite like it as is.
It were lips that gave life, pumped the very flesh of her heart into the vale of her soul and ravaged and tore it with each breath. The brutal pulse of love compelled her ever deeper, corrupting her with a simple embrace. One touch - it was all she hoped itwould be and in her tomorrows could only hope for more. For hearts that act on impulse, she believed must be honest, and why change reinvents ideals of love her heart less a fool in her eyes grows abundant in her freedom and stronger for her lose.
A new day emerged where she was delivered by sorrow to walk without fear. So rich was her heart now bound by fingers caressing the verge of a promise yet to be made, that she was lighting the dark with a faith yet to be realised by those in the shadows. And it was the essence of want in her eyes that could render the past in a single glance, even for that of a stranger.
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