Stowaway
I luv the way he looks at me. Shy and half-cocked as tough he is caught off guard, like he is retracing his steps to remember all the ways to make me smile. He brings me flowers every Sunday and tells me stories about mermaids and sirens witch their sharp claws and beguiling lips. He says I remind him of the sea and attaches me to a metaphor I've never heard before, when i thought I had heard them all. I think someone broke his heard once and now he can't bear to be away from the ocean. He says it's strange how the smiles, things can wreck a ship. Like a rock, or a wave, or a hairline crack in the hull. He calls me his little stowaway and he says it sadly, tenderly, as though I can sink him
------ Lang Leav
I luv the way he looks at me. Shy and half-cocked as tough he is caught off guard, like he is retracing his steps to remember all the ways to make me smile. He brings me flowers every Sunday and tells me stories about mermaids and sirens witch their sharp claws and beguiling lips. He says I remind him of the sea and attaches me to a metaphor I've never heard before, when i thought I had heard them all. I think someone broke his heard once and now he can't bear to be away from the ocean. He says it's strange how the smiles, things can wreck a ship. Like a rock, or a wave, or a hairline crack in the hull. He calls me his little stowaway and he says it sadly, tenderly, as though I can sink him
------ Lang Leav