Her heart is a confession box
Full of the whispered sins of others
Regrets mingled with half-hearted promises.
Her legs are marked with scattered stories
In the burns and bitter stains of spilled coffee,
A representation of missed appointments
And unkempt curls drenched with ambiguity.
Apologies lie tangled between her thighs
Like sounds trapped in tree branches
Waiting for the wind to release them.
Her laughter catches in her throat
Like a quickly uttered curse echoing in a chapel
Blemished by horrified stares
And all the while
She feigns offense at her own mind.
Yet, betrayed intentions gloss over her eyes
And speak volumes that neither her lips
Nor ample tongue dare admit.
Moonlit Poetry 