Made Her Cry

Fantasy-ness. Too much Philip Pullman and time to donate to inspiration.


Last night, I met her beneath the railway bridge,
kinetic light streaming above with passage and
export. At the tracks edge, we breed equality like
mating fireflies, in celebration of the solstice.

I'd nothing to offer her but crafted kisses, slivers
of my street rat heart preserved in sealed glass jars.
I would have bestowed an entire kingdom into her
faerie hands, were it not already lapping at her feet.

I think I made her cry. 'Don't you know?' I said. 'Poor
boys aren't supposed to fall in love with rich girls'.
From my flagman's station, through shattered lighthouse
windows, my eyes align with her North-West tower.

I watched her like a pilgrim. Oblivious to the furious
storm around her, I saw her spin- spin- spin- in
hysterical upset at my misconceived words; she never
gave me chance to say just how much I love her.

Stamped. Sealed. Delivered by hand; I sit among the
thick set branches that tease at the first floor balcony,
just to press my apologetic words into her physical touch.
I'm sorry, angel, I love you passionately, forgive me?

That's beautiful! Nearly brought a tear to my eye.
I absolutely love your word choice and the way they tell the story.
I really really like it.
Great job.

I see the Philp Pullman refelcted in here
a spark of Romeo and Juliet too
its well-written and as unorthodox as your sentence structure is
its fits the purpose quiet well
the constant flow of one sentence broken up unevenly into lines of a stanza reflects the way your character challenges conventions of the social hierarchy
good job
x

Thank you guys.