People often mistake
my eyes for mirrors
My hands are beginning
to turn pale in this infinite
of seconds
How one must seem
to be so transparent
under the clarity
of simple afternoons
when the chaos
of flowers against
the frequency of storms
would suffice in making
me miss you
more than the breath
between my lungs
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 12:00 AM UTC
People often mistake
my eyes for mirrors
My hands are beginning
to turn pale in this infinite
of seconds
How one must seem
to be so transparent
under the clarity
of simple afternoons
when the chaos
of flowers against
the frequency of storms
would suffice in making
me miss you
more than the breath
between my lungs
