I’m not the girl to just cry wolf.
You question everything — and nothing.
We both wonder — and wander,
as free as the wind in the tree.
You are the moon and I, the magnetic sea;
will you get lost in the mystery of me?
Like a traveling gypsy have you found
a desirable home for the night ahead?
You stare into my eyes a little too much,
for I am the question mark — the answer.
If walls spoke mine would whisper.
Raised in a garden, I grew up a wildflower.
I am a wildfire — and you may well be
the matchstick that sets me off.
Have you ever pressed your lips to a flame
I can make you feel like a moth.
Like a loose thread waiting to be pulled,
you taunt me, hanging in your indecision.
Yes, my chaos is loud, but I don’t know
how to live (or love) any other way.
POETIC FORM: CENTO
A poem composed of lines from other poets’ poems.
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