Just Listening To My Beats

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: May 15, 2018

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Submitted: May 15, 2018

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She hadn't given me birth from her womb; but could still irrefutably gauge the profound sadness enshrouding my countenance; by just ethereally glimpsing at my shielding eyelashes,

She hadn't given me birth from her womb; but could still irrefutably prognosticate the hunger in my stomach; by just sighting me restlessly gnawing at my bohemian nails,

She hadn't given me birth from her womb; but could still irrefutably sense the maniacal desperation in my trembling visage; by just the infinitesimally changed
tone; in the nimble cadence of my voice,

She hadn't given me birth from her womb; but could still irrefutably comprehend the wave of bizarre mortification enveloping my soul; by just the capricious tinge of poignant scarlet; on my impoverished cheeks,

She hadn't given me birth from her womb; but could still irrefutably narrate the experiences of my day; by just feeling the transiently cringed lines; on my diminutively frazzled forehead,

She hadn't given me birth from her womb; but could still irrefutably guess the thunderbolts of tumultuous anger encapsulating my blood; by just witnessing that
inconspicuous iota of frantic vacillation in my dwindling stride,

She hadn't given me birth from her womb; but could still irrefutably feel the insatiably nostalgic child in me; by just gently caressing my innocuously vivacious lips,

She hadn't given me birth from her womb; but could still irrefutably soliloquize the first day of my birth; by just kissing my rampantly fluttering and daintily gorgeous eyelashes,

She hadn't given me birth from her womb; but could still irrefutably understand the diabolically obsessive agony in my life; by just sighting the augmented redness in the interiors of my palm; and withering body skin,

She hadn't give me birth from her womb; but could still irrefutably analyze the state of intriguingly inexplicable mind; by just staring for mock seconds; at the ludicrously staggering curvature of my spine,

She hadn't given me birth from her womb; but could still irrefutably construe the vibrant philosopher entrenching my senses from all sides; by just inhaling
the scent that drifted; from my profusely wandering countenance,
She hadn't given me birth from her womb; but could still irrefutably conceive the insurmountable reservoir of fantasy circulating in my blood; by just kneading my pulse a minuscule trifle,

She hadn't given me birth from her womb; but could still irrefutably perceive the tumultuous electricity in my compassionate visage; by just the poignant magnetism that radiated on every step that I gently tread,

She hadn't given me birth from her womb; but could still irrefutably apprehend the unfathomable carpet of dreams in my eyes; by just witnessing the resplendently shimmering twinkle that lay; therein,

She hadn't given me birth from her womb; but could still irrefutably assimilate the unrelenting euphoria in each element of my persona; by just tracing the tiny globules of sweat; that ran down my chest,

She hadn't given me birth from her womb; but could still irrefutably discern the ardent believer in my body; by just witnessing the resiliently unflinching contours of my chin,

She hadn't given me birth from her womb; but could still irrefutably grasp the artist fulminating inexorably in my ecstatic veins; by just feeling the astronomical propensity in my fireballs of passionate breath,

She hadn't given me birth from her womb; but could still irrefutably realize my uncontrollably escalating desire; by just cuddling the fantastically zealous moistness; which engulfed every trajectory of my flesh,

And she hadn't given me birth from her womb; but could still irrefutably define my immortal love for her divinely grace; by just listening to the marvelously impregnable beats of my small; but perpetually craving heart.


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