Butterflies in my stomach

Mysterious, should I say, your thoughts,
Driven me towards you all the way;
Discreet was my speech,
My words got stolen and let to slay;
Was it the miracle of those intense eyes?
My lips were carving to play;
Flowing, was that wavery hair,
Wait, what’s this amazing spray?
This is all too much of handsomeness,
I can’t miss you, let’s just fly away;
I just want to sit on your lap,
and wish to pass the day;
You look like wonderland is your address,
Oh, my baby! You are a total buffet;
Forget the whole world, take my hand,
Without any questions, just be my bae….

Published by penfluky

Writing is not a skill acquired through practice. Not for us, at least. Writing is a phenomenon that occurred to us when we wanted to shout our thoughts out. It happened when our brains formed a labyrinth of thoughts with no way out. The only way was to break the walls, the walls we constructed in our minds—the walls which stopped us from letting ourselves out. We broke the barriers using the mightiest weapon, the pen. Writing was our way out of that maze. Words and sentences flowed like a stream of some river, which consisted of A2Z instead of H2O. Soon the river filled the brain and the labyrinth was not visible anymore.

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