3:30 on the train—
it seems so dark these days:
these days
when grass withers
on my footsteps, when thoughts
of you—you, the flame of my lighthouse,
the sail of my ocean—drift and
hang, warily, in the murky air.
3:30 on the train—
another day, rustling through the
dark, without you.
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 5:49 PM UTC
3:30 on the train—
it seems so dark these days:
these days
when grass withers
on my footsteps, when thoughts
of you—you, the flame of my lighthouse,
the sail of my ocean—drift and
hang, warily, in the murky air.
3:30 on the train—
another day, rustling through the
dark, without you.
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