Tick

She was the mechanism that made his second hand tick. ~ Mark Thompson

Sweet refrain

In sweet refrain she found herself observing that which held her back, by taking pause to reflect upon her inner voice – the right, the wrong. From within, she searched and found a treasure held in sunken chest, a heart that beats in love, not pain, beneath her fears, in sweet refrain. ~ Mark Thompson

Compass

She was his North. ~ Mark Thompson

Coffee?

She was the extra-hot expresso. Her taste kick-starting his day – her petite, aromatic dance tantalising his taste buds, picking him up with a playful bite to his lip. She was the heat he knew, the heat he loved and cherished. Each and every morning, each and every day. ~ Mark Thompson

Heart of gold

Her heart’s not of gold as a good heart should be. It was molded from birth through ash-filled past days, mistakes and dismay. Through times so unjust, fear-fuelled through mistrust, dripping muddy-teared faces and tempting memory erases. The lessons now known gave her heart the way, in compassionate trust to see through the storm, to…

Fake plastic trees

She was not a fake plastic tree. She was a flower yet to bloom, raw in beauty churned from within. A nurtured bud born from a seed, tossed in the tumultuous torrents of harsh seasons past. She was not a fake plastic tree. ~ Mark Thompson

Popcorn

She was the blanket, the popcorn,and Battle of the Bastards. ~ Mark Thompson

Oxidation

She was the oxygen to his flame. ~ Mark Thompson

Smile

If she could see herself the way he does, that smile would never leave her face. ~ Mark Thompson

Song of you

How can I write the song of you, when words in rhyme cannot express, clearly divulge, nor deeply carress the sweetest of connections shared. For a pen is just an object used to scribe a language known from past. Yet the song of you is only known in a language new, yet to be shown….