i went to your grave today
and my ankles touched the grass
6 feet above you
i placed my palms on brown stems
crackling beneath the weight of my painted smile.
the wind kicks up my hair
like your coattail
hitting the back of a leather seat
facing ivory notes
that mimic the lullaby i sing to you now.
the white flowers stem from
my fingernails after all this time
they are beautiful weeds
that i pluck and loop around each other
placing this crown on my head
that is anything but regal.
the buds are the last snow
and their misty color matches that
of the clouds escaping my chapped lips.
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 9:20 AM UTC
i went to your grave today
and my ankles touched the grass
6 feet above you
i placed my palms on brown stems
crackling beneath the weight of my painted smile.
the wind kicks up my hair
like your coattail
hitting the back of a leather seat
facing ivory notes
that mimic the lullaby i sing to you now.
the white flowers stem from
my fingernails after all this time
they are beautiful weeds
that i pluck and loop around each other
placing this crown on my head
that is anything but regal.
the buds are the last snow
and their misty color matches that
of the clouds escaping my chapped lips.
