Fill my lungs with flowers;
Vases for your affection
And yours alone.
Sip the frozen smoke rings
In stumbling drunk motions
As they dribble from my lips.
Mold me as clay;
I was born
To fit in your
S p a c e s.
Dig your fingers
Underneath my ribs.
Bury your pain in the absence
My heart left when
I handed it to you,
Wrapped in brown paper and string.
My hands are a coat rack,
A place for you to leave your fingers
When otherwise occupied.
My eyes are the mirrors
In which you peer
To try and see what it's like to
Love you.
My skin is your canvas
But you're too gentle
To urge a purplish bruise to
The milky surface.
Instead your touch
Rouses a rose petal
Blush;
A flower tint
To your maiden
Fashioned of snow.
k.f.
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 7:06 PM UTC
Fill my lungs with flowers;
Vases for your affection
And yours alone.
Sip the frozen smoke rings
In stumbling drunk motions
As they dribble from my lips.
Mold me as clay;
I was born
To fit in your
S p a c e s.
Dig your fingers
Underneath my ribs.
Bury your pain in the absence
My heart left when
I handed it to you,
Wrapped in brown paper and string.
My hands are a coat rack,
A place for you to leave your fingers
When otherwise occupied.
My eyes are the mirrors
In which you peer
To try and see what it's like to
Love you.
My skin is your canvas
But you're too gentle
To urge a purplish bruise to
The milky surface.
Instead your touch
Rouses a rose petal
Blush;
A flower tint
To your maiden
Fashioned of snow.
k.f.
Request permission to use this poem