Prose Poetry on Fierce Femme
Paper Flowers
Fragile and eternal
I am an origami heart unfolding in the mirror, paper skin crinkling, veins of ink spreading like a map of scars.
Love is the hand that creases, folds, and shapes me into something delicate, beautiful, and flawed.
Every touch is a whisper of desire, the breath of creation.
My reflection wavers, a ghost of who I was, who I am becoming.
In the garden of our moments, petals fall, each a fragment of memory.
Your eyes are the sun, blinding and warm, casting shadows where we danced, laughed, and cried.
I trace the lines of your face with my thoughts, every wrinkle a testament to the years we’ve carved from silence.
Your smile, a fleeting crescent moon, waxes and wanes with the tides of our shared nights.
We speak in the language of pauses, breaths held and released, a symphony of unspoken truths.
Your voice is a soft murmur against my ear, a river of syllables that wash over me, leaving me drenched in longing.
The words we don’t say hang between us like stars, bright and untouchable, illuminating the space where our hearts meet.
I am the ink that writes our story, a pen that bleeds across the pages of our life together.
Each chapter is a heartbeat, each paragraph a sigh.
We are bound by the margins, the edges of our existence, where love lingers like a shadow, constant and ephemeral.
You are the author of my soul, and I, the willing scribe, capturing every fleeting moment, every whispered promise.
In the quiet of the night, I hold you close, our bodies entwined in a dance of vulnerability and trust.
Your heartbeat is a metronome, steady and reassuring, a reminder that we are here, together, in this fragile symphony of life.
The moonlight casts a silver glow, painting our skin with the brushstrokes of dreams.
We are a canvas, a masterpiece in progress, a testament to the art of love.
And as the dawn breaks, spilling golden light across our faces, I know that we are eternal.
In the morning, we will rise again, reborn in the light of our love, a phoenix from the ashes.
This is our truth, our legacy, our song.
I whisper your name, a prayer, a promise, a declaration of all that we are and will be.
You are my paper flower, fragile and eternal, blooming in the garden of my heart.
Ani Eldritch 2024
