|The Way To A Mans Heart|
I thought he was an angel
with opalescent pure skin.
His hair flowed like golden syrup
over his shoulders;
from his strawberry lips
his silken mellifluous voice sluiced,
drowning anyone he addressed with his dulcet charm.
His personality was coffee, bitter but addictive.
He was a spider;
he would spin and weave his tapestry of words,
draw you in with a single thread
and poison you into paralysis.
Then - he devoured you whole.
He held me captive.
But… perfect is a fragile word
Minor details gave him away:
his eyes - glacial cyanide.
A frozen window into his soul.
It offered winter that chilled to the heart
if you strayed too close.
He’d slowly dust you with shimmering frost
while you stood there
Fascinated with the glitter of the snowflakes,
Inside he’d drive hail into your heart,
Although it was summer,
shivers coursed through my body.
No-one knows I died of hypothermia
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