I'm not the man you met three years ago.

[in-need-of-an-empire]

Revised.


delicate wispy fingers gently interlaced
his tired bony knuckles.
and a soft palm caressed
the most tender part of his sore neck.
"____________________________"
he said to her. she taught him that.
how to say it.

and the hour of fate was upon them.

she was a tower of skin and bone
with smooth firm flesh
and green eyes, hot like hell-fire
that brands your soul...

they leave a mark that never fades.

her hair was a dark and lovely storm
that fell so easily over her shoulders.
and she had green eyes that brand your soul...

but he didnt love her.
no, not until it was too late.
he broke her heart a dozen times
before she ever even touched his.

and once he allowed himself to feel her there
she burst forth from him with vengeance.

but even now his mistakes are not regrets.
even if she hates him.

He was a tower of skin and bone
with pale, scarred flesh,
and he had green eyes, lukewarm like day old mud puddles
that fade from memory.

his hair was a dark and lifeless form
that dangled meagerly across his face.

and he had green eyes that fade from memory.

but she loved him.
yes, every single day.
until the day before
he loved her back.

she offered up her heart to him
a dozen times with no avail
before she turned her back on him.
but even now...
her mistakes may be regrets.
because he may still love her.

and the delicate wispy fingers that interlaced so gently between his tired bony knuckles are gone now.
and the hour of fate is upon him.