The penultimate floor
is plunged into darkness
before the woods are.
I’m stroking your shoulders,
distancing cold rain
that’s knocking on windows
is ostensibly crying,
reminds of the distance
we are torn apart.
The ravens are flying
to thousands bits
from frames of the wirings,
like silver cold threads
that are keep with devotion
dividing the glass,
remind of the ocean,
we are torn apart.
I’m looking at walkways
that lead to the Sun
and think of you always.
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 3:25 PM UTC
The penultimate floor
is plunged into darkness
before the woods are.
I’m stroking your shoulders,
distancing cold rain
that’s knocking on windows
is ostensibly crying,
reminds of the distance
we are torn apart.
The ravens are flying
to thousands bits
from frames of the wirings,
like silver cold threads
that are keep with devotion
dividing the glass,
remind of the ocean,
we are torn apart.
I’m looking at walkways
that lead to the Sun
and think of you always.
