Tight the way I like,
the chains of your fantasy,
in which you're the king.
Built on illusions,
the fort of patriarchy,
empty without me.
Apr 28, 2020
Apr 28, 2020 at 5:01 AM UTC
Now it begins with the ocean - blue,
the heart of which
lies not in itself
but in the lapping waves,
foaming away at her feet.
Soundlessly calling.
Apr 28, 2020
Apr 28, 2020 at 4:59 AM UTC
Off the distant peaks,
in the heart of valley stirs,
the sound of mountains.
Apr 28, 2020
Apr 28, 2020 at 4:55 AM UTC
Within the hollow,
pines a bird, in the forest,
longing to be heard.
Apr 28, 2020
Apr 28, 2020 at 4:55 AM UTC
In your ocean eyes,
ebb and flow, the rising tide,
crashing into waves.
Apr 28, 2020
Apr 28, 2020 at 4:54 AM UTC