paper bag soul
paper bag heart
peering over the edge of it
I remember her
in the mornings
the sun lands on her
like a fly
her hair curled back
the tides of winter
hang like suicides
from her lashes
she is desolate
next to me
a desert
if she rises
I will die
collapse into her
falling into
her milky wake
it’s the us
in her
this is a waltz
these mingled
limbs
weighted still
by shadows
her breath
casts spells
on me until
I don’t exist
Written by Mike Linaweaver
Posted on 02-14-13
No comments:
Post a Comment