Lovely Ruins.
Tossed through ash.
Cold.
Bruised.
Sail to me for conversation.
Not A lover to one.
Not one for another.
Covered by lips.
The old teachings.
Learned to be alone.
Take up enchantments of touch.
Tremolos in the fingers.
Grip on nothing.
All to be nothing but the trees in Fall.
Garrett Johnson.
Sep 20, 2019
Sep 20, 2019 at 7:06 PM UTC
Lovely Ruins.
Tossed through ash.
Cold.
Bruised.
Sail to me for conversation.
Not A lover to one.
Not one for another.
Covered by lips.
The old teachings.
Learned to be alone.
Take up enchantments of touch.
Tremolos in the fingers.
Grip on nothing.
All to be nothing but the trees in Fall.
Garrett Johnson.
Late . . .
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