The yellow bird in its golden cage sings
to me, in the depths of the night, while I
raise my palm to my lips and kiss
it, pretending I were loved;
though my sorry heart knows I am
not, and the flightless canary does too--
its singing metamorphs into wailing as
the amber stars sink in the sky.
The darkness nibbles
on their ivory light, and my warmth
subsides to ice.
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 12:02 AM UTC
The yellow bird in its golden cage sings
to me, in the depths of the night, while I
raise my palm to my lips and kiss
it, pretending I were loved;
though my sorry heart knows I am
not, and the flightless canary does too--
its singing metamorphs into wailing as
the amber stars sink in the sky.
The darkness nibbles
on their ivory light, and my warmth
subsides to ice.
And still he did not love her.
