You find me waxing the floor
with my hands and some spittle.
A mirror of you,
papertrails and clips of words
brush aside gurgles of incoherent thoughts.
Midnight comes too late, bewitching
the deep lines on my face as your
hands wash clear the blood and putridness
of another
long,
buried
day.
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 5:29 AM UTC
You find me waxing the floor
with my hands and some spittle.
A mirror of you,
papertrails and clips of words
brush aside gurgles of incoherent thoughts.
Midnight comes too late, bewitching
the deep lines on my face as your
hands wash clear the blood and putridness
of another
long,
buried
day.
