Ebony Through The Seasons

He’s always adored the way her crimson coated fingertips
caress her shallow ribs when under extremes of pressure.
Claustrophobic anxiety sears through her pale flesh,
each and every time she flows through the hidden passages

of London; deep below the pulsing heart of glowing Camden.
Nothing speaks to her more than his delicate, poets’ soul,
fused together with thread like spiders’ webs and shattered
sentiments of the crypt. His emerald eyes; bright as July,

are captured in frames of liquid liner as black as December.
Angels aren’t always creatures of the skies, and saviours
aren’t always dressed in shining armour. The softest love
stories exude not the clichéd affections of April flowers,

but flourish from frail acorns embedded in the tarnished
asphalt. Silken kisses shared beneath the crystal stars whilst
hiding behind the oaks of Marble Arch. Every autumn, their
leaves fade to the ground, and bleed their sweet nothings onto

the curb – purity told in contemporary faerietales crafted in
lace and leather. Chemical colour separates them like ebony
and ivory, but magical attraction holds them in cataclysmic
equilibrium; soothed only by the touch of skin to skin.

OH wow. WOW. That was really beautiful. I love "His emerald eyes; bright as July,

are captured in frames of liquid liner as black as December. "

mostly cuz it made me think of Billie. xD

Its beautiful, though. You have the best metaphors and descriptions.

bwahahaha! I showed my friend this just before I wrote my comment and she just emailed me back with this

"Wow. Is this person in like, an interracial relationship or something?"

wow.
this is beautiful.
i love the way you phrase things,

lyrical_gaah52:

bwahahaha! I showed my friend this just before I wrote my comment and she just emailed me back with this

"Wow. Is this person in like, an interracial relationship or something?"

Noooo... And about Billie; I got the idea after watching a pretty goth boy on a quiz show the other week.

Thank you everyone.

So beautiful. Each line elegantly dripping with metephorical and celestial wonder.

Awesome Poet Yuh Huh:

lace and leather. Chemical colour separates them like ebony
and ivory, but magical attraction holds them in cataclysmic
equilibrium; soothed only by the touch of skin to skin.

This bit made me feel guilty and giggle because that's what I'm learning in Chemisty...equillibrium.

Holy a;lskjdfksjdf.

Surriously, the alliteration. And omg omg omg this piece of assonance:

fused together with thread like spiders’ webs and shattered

Those two words are like godly in the place you have them.

And beautiful as always.

Thank you so much.

I adore this poem!
It's just so... so beautiful. It flows amazingly, your word choice is excellent, the metaphors and imagery are great.
I agree with what everyone has said.
:]

And I love this part:
Nothing speaks to her more than his delicate, poets’ soul,
fused together with thread like spiders’ webs and shattered
sentiments of the crypt. His emerald eyes; bright as July,

are captured in frames of liquid liner as black as December.
Angels aren’t always creatures of the skies, and saviours
aren’t always dressed in shining armour. The softest love

I loved it. Most time big words like 'claustrophobic' are used, they sound weird but here it fitted in perfetly. Wow.
I especially loved

Nothing speaks to her more than his delicate, poets’ soul,
fused together with thread like spiders’ webs and shattered
sentiments of the crypt.

and

Angels aren’t always creatures of the skies, and saviours
aren’t always dressed in shining armour.

Amazing work.

Thank you everyone. Desperately appriciated.

amazing. wonderful as always. me woves your powetwy

WOW!!! I wish I could write like that. I love it really I do. And this part:

"His emerald eyes; bright as July, are captured in frames of liquid liner as black as December.
Angels aren’t always creatures of the skies, and saviours
aren’t always dressed in shining armour."

I love the way you use colours. I wubs it! Yay!

He’s always adored the way her crimson coated fingertips
caress her shallow ribs when under extremes of pressure.
Claustrophobic anxiety sears through her pale flesh,
each and every time she flows through the hidden passages

of London; deep below the pulsing heart of glowing Camden.

I really liked the whole think, but you opened the whole poem quite well.

People are still commenting on this? Thank you guys.