Tickling Beard


Tears not of fear, his fear, her fear, life fears or affairs, but of his beard that would tickle not her cheeks or her lips that would get raw from the immense pressure of his wired hair, but of  her heart that was once full of love.

Truly departed not from her heart, but of her sight, her vision, her life. What was once daily visions and nights of delight are replaced with a  dimmed memory stuck by her side.

Nightly dreams of what was once sugar plums and sweet treats, nights of guitar strings filling their ears, taking them to coffee houses far and near are now plain and discreet.

She walks in a dim world of shattered glass floating, awaiting to puncture every happy romantic delight that pronounces a love for her.

Not wanting to be touched by an enchantment of any sort, but only of his tickling beard.

Illustration by Clare Owens
Beard love by Cami*Star

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