Sometimes I wish
I could put my ink,
to the ebb of smoke
and string words.
Words that travel,
Words through the infinity of space,
so that when it reaches you,
the ashes burnt in my tongue will go through you
Into you, in words.
and vanish away, in the sweetest whiff.
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 5:15 AM UTC
Sometimes I wish
I could put my ink,
to the ebb of smoke
and string words.
Words that travel,
Words through the infinity of space,
so that when it reaches you,
the ashes burnt in my tongue will go through you
Into you, in words.
and vanish away, in the sweetest whiff.
