robyn-lewisWhisper

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UntitledI am flawed, / An inner fault, though I appear whole. / I can feel it grind with each breath,
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Sweating in a small townA vast unfeeling sordid breath, / That scalds my naked doubt / Grazing the space unfilled.
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The fallout of jealousyI cannot forever be walking on this gravel, / This glass shingle / Grating beneath my bare soles.
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1.7k
A breathA breath that that bled through days / Seeping between our bodies, / Hushing my skin to fire
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Brooding GodA serious face glares through the snow, / peering to the depths. The city hums / with the pierce of sirens, the murmur of shouts.
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Is the Doorstep Where the Buck Stops?The outside is off limits and a doorstep becomes a dais, / To show frustration and sympathy, / To light a candle, to mourn
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Welsh rainHeavy grey sky / Irrepressibly looming, / Descending, a sheen.
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Sea lustWishing for brevity, / As the heavy heat settles / And this mocking breeze,
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ThomasTwo bodies matched playfully, / Taught and stretched / Entranced in the lines
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Bitter facetsI have nothing now but my pride, / Which may not keep me close / But we have never dealt with emotions.
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