Tick tick tick.
I'm wrapped in the hands of time;
but the only hand that I want to feel,
are yours gently wrapped in mine.
Daddy's kisses, Hershey's kisses,
on the counter taking space.
Counting down to sweeter kisses,
wherever your lips are placed.
Giant bed, sleepless nights,
shrill louder than alarms;
that in a few short weeks,
I'll fall asleep in your arms.
It's strange that you've never set foot in this house;
but I'm surrounded by the ghost of you.
The road maps on my skin are void of your fingertips;
I'm a haunted house too.
Soon the priest will begin the journey,
and the spirits will cease to roam.
The ghost of you will be put to rest,
when you finally come back home.
Aug 28, 2017
Aug 28, 2017 at 12:43 AM UTC
Tick tick tick.
I'm wrapped in the hands of time;
but the only hand that I want to feel,
are yours gently wrapped in mine.
Daddy's kisses, Hershey's kisses,
on the counter taking space.
Counting down to sweeter kisses,
wherever your lips are placed.
Giant bed, sleepless nights,
shrill louder than alarms;
that in a few short weeks,
I'll fall asleep in your arms.
It's strange that you've never set foot in this house;
but I'm surrounded by the ghost of you.
The road maps on my skin are void of your fingertips;
I'm a haunted house too.
Soon the priest will begin the journey,
and the spirits will cease to roam.
The ghost of you will be put to rest,
when you finally come back home.
Request permission to use this poem