i'm thinking signs and seasons
She was melted lavender
and butter yellow before
dawn, creamy and pulsating
but alive.
Her irises were diluted
coffee beans and when
her rose tea fingertips
grazed his scruffy beard
he could only stare into
those eyes and thank the
deities he had lived to find her.
By the afternoon she intensified.
Gold splashed across
her arms, running down to
meet with the raspberries lapping
her wrists. Cerulean popped
beneath her feet, especially
when she was on her way to
the bookstore. She radiated
chartreuse when they discussed
what town they would explore
next, what sites they would see.
When she was furious over his
latest prank or found his
joke moronic, a halo of crimson
illuminated her skull and she
would rage until the ring
became a subdued coral.
Once it was safe he would
brush his lips against her amber
lips and sense the colours
pulsating against his skin.
It was his favourite feeling.
When the moon bathed the
bed sheets in silver and the
day had been strenuous, they
would lounge under hand spun
quilts and share secrets of their
past selves. She had been an
Athenian priestess and he a
Roman guard. She exhaled maroon
into his ear, staining his skin.
At night she was indigo and navy
tinted with amethyst, outlined in onyx.
She was hard lines and protruding
bones overlapped by a weightless
delicacy that he had yet to see
worn so lovely on another woman.
He adored her most when
the stars were out.
She was every shade, every
hue, every pigment named
or unnamed. He could list
every colour that graced her
surface and found that each time
he did so he fell in love with her
a little more. He would keep naming
the tints till the Angel of Death
came knocking at his door.
---------
One of my crossover poems.he "she" is Belle from "Beauty and the Beast" and "he" is Phoebus from "The Hunchback of Notre Dame". The girl with dreams bigger than the whole of France and the knight with adventure written all over him. Could you possibly pair two better people together? I think not.
Their story: Phoebus ends up leaving Paris after Frollo's death (Esmeralda and him didn't work out; don't ask, she has a story I'll be working on) and ended up in Belle's town. This was before the beast came into the picture. They met in the town square while she was avoiding Gaston and, seeing he was exhausted from his long journey, brought him home as a thank you for helping her with Gaston. She told him about her dreams, her ambitions and he told her about all the places he had seen. She wanted to hear every detail, and before she knew it he was inviting her to travel with him and she was agreeing. The rest is history :)
Enjoy!
She was melted lavender
and butter yellow before
dawn, creamy and pulsating
but alive.
Her irises were diluted
coffee beans and when
her rose tea fingertips
grazed his scruffy beard
he could only stare into
those eyes and thank the
deities he had lived to find her.
By the afternoon she intensified.
Gold splashed across
her arms, running down to
meet with the raspberries lapping
her wrists. Cerulean popped
beneath her feet, especially
when she was on her way to
the bookstore. She radiated
chartreuse when they discussed
what town they would explore
next, what sites they would see.
When she was furious over his
latest prank or found his
joke moronic, a halo of crimson
illuminated her skull and she
would rage until the ring
became a subdued coral.
Once it was safe he would
brush his lips against her amber
lips and sense the colours
pulsating against his skin.
It was his favourite feeling.
When the moon bathed the
bed sheets in silver and the
day had been strenuous, they
would lounge under hand spun
quilts and share secrets of their
past selves. She had been an
Athenian priestess and he a
Roman guard. She exhaled maroon
into his ear, staining his skin.
At night she was indigo and navy
tinted with amethyst, outlined in onyx.
She was hard lines and protruding
bones overlapped by a weightless
delicacy that he had yet to see
worn so lovely on another woman.
He adored her most when
the stars were out.
She was every shade, every
hue, every pigment named
or unnamed. He could list
every colour that graced her
surface and found that each time
he did so he fell in love with her
a little more. He would keep naming
the tints till the Angel of Death
came knocking at his door.
---------
One of my crossover poems.he "she" is Belle from "Beauty and the Beast" and "he" is Phoebus from "The Hunchback of Notre Dame". The girl with dreams bigger than the whole of France and the knight with adventure written all over him. Could you possibly pair two better people together? I think not.
Their story: Phoebus ends up leaving Paris after Frollo's death (Esmeralda and him didn't work out; don't ask, she has a story I'll be working on) and ended up in Belle's town. This was before the beast came into the picture. They met in the town square while she was avoiding Gaston and, seeing he was exhausted from his long journey, brought him home as a thank you for helping her with Gaston. She told him about her dreams, her ambitions and he told her about all the places he had seen. She wanted to hear every detail, and before she knew it he was inviting her to travel with him and she was agreeing. The rest is history :)
Enjoy!
