Figures
You are my sun in the bright of the day.
You suck me dry of emotions. That figures.
My ship has finally found a bay.
You are a moon. Full with glorious silver,
Mystic, suggestive, yet saying no words.
You are a goddess. And mostly that figures.
You do not possibly know how it hurts.
You are a fire for moth. Something bigger.
Venom for those who come praying for death.
You feel no pain. You’re an image. That figures.
Nothing can hold or restore your breath.
You are alluring. You’re stunning. A liquor
After a day full of sorrows and sins.
You’re an idea. And mostly that figures.
I am a drunkard. A psycho. That fits.
Photo by Pedro Maia (http://500px.com/photo/2396890)
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