Light hands thread wool and silver,
duck cloth and burlap,
the concrete and dirt under the wood.
Your bold heart betrays your mouth.
Your chest is a bellowing gong
against your sisterhood-cotton-patch.
Could the river cry to your empathy?
or would you stuck-stay-stubborn
and hard-stoned to your unmoved stoicism?
You have the rich-filthy-love I look for.
Truth hearty and sacred like the
sincerity I didn’t believe in before you
showed up creeping toward my front,
announcing yourself as unending,
giving the stomach promise of stay-sure flight.
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 10:27 PM UTC
Light hands thread wool and silver,
duck cloth and burlap,
the concrete and dirt under the wood.
Your bold heart betrays your mouth.
Your chest is a bellowing gong
against your sisterhood-cotton-patch.
Could the river cry to your empathy?
or would you stuck-stay-stubborn
and hard-stoned to your unmoved stoicism?
You have the rich-filthy-love I look for.
Truth hearty and sacred like the
sincerity I didn’t believe in before you
showed up creeping toward my front,
announcing yourself as unending,
giving the stomach promise of stay-sure flight.