you look at me
like i am sunset slipping
away
from your fingers like
silk and satin while
my fingers tremble
and quake and ache to be so far
away
you are still looking at me
my fingers curl into
fists crushing petals that
are never there
don't look at me i know
i left the flowers to rot
and wilt among dusty windows
and picture frames three nights ago
i know you wanted the roses
next to the bed or between us
somewhere to remind me of
things you only say when
your arms become shore and
i cannot breathe
they were such pretty little things
pinks and reds and dawn and dusk
did you know? i cradled your roses
to my chest until the scent of
flowers and you
and sweet and kindness and hope and
love became suffocation and memory
of everything you poured into
my thirsty hands that i did not
deserve
everything i watched rain down
my feet through the faultlines cracking
along my palms the way your
gentle fingers would whisper
against mine as you fell asleep with
your head cradling mine and forever
still on your lips
i look back at you
and my fingers are only my
own again and they were such
pretty little things but i am only
nothing
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 6:04 AM UTC
you look at me
like i am sunset slipping
away
from your fingers like
silk and satin while
my fingers tremble
and quake and ache to be so far
away
you are still looking at me
my fingers curl into
fists crushing petals that
are never there
don't look at me i know
i left the flowers to rot
and wilt among dusty windows
and picture frames three nights ago
i know you wanted the roses
next to the bed or between us
somewhere to remind me of
things you only say when
your arms become shore and
i cannot breathe
they were such pretty little things
pinks and reds and dawn and dusk
did you know? i cradled your roses
to my chest until the scent of
flowers and you
and sweet and kindness and hope and
love became suffocation and memory
of everything you poured into
my thirsty hands that i did not
deserve
everything i watched rain down
my feet through the faultlines cracking
along my palms the way your
gentle fingers would whisper
against mine as you fell asleep with
your head cradling mine and forever
still on your lips
i look back at you
and my fingers are only my
own again and they were such
pretty little things but i am only
nothing
we have to learn the hard way
Request permission to use this poem