I wrote poetry in the sand,
fragile and foamed over by the sea...
Shallow, lightning-glass letters,
tasting of salt, of dreams, of you and me.
I left footprints in the clouds,
soft and brimming with crystal dew...
So many little puddles of rain yet to be,
reflecting the stars, reflecting me, reflecting you.
There's a rainbow on the horizon that says it knows my shadow.
There's a shape that your lips take when you murmur my name.
I sew verses into the seams of my dress,
they melt into the slick of my skin.
I skip through pools in summer downpours,
and wonder if I might be all there is...
I held out my hand,
delicate,
fingers covered in ink...
Like a stain waiting to claim a piece of your heart
with all the pieces of me.
Jan 7
Jan 7, 2026 at 2:15 PM UTC
I wrote poetry in the sand,
fragile and foamed over by the sea...
Shallow, lightning-glass letters,
tasting of salt, of dreams, of you and me.
I left footprints in the clouds,
soft and brimming with crystal dew...
So many little puddles of rain yet to be,
reflecting the stars, reflecting me, reflecting you.
There's a rainbow on the horizon that says it knows my shadow.
There's a shape that your lips take when you murmur my name.
I sew verses into the seams of my dress,
they melt into the slick of my skin.
I skip through pools in summer downpours,
and wonder if I might be all there is...
I held out my hand,
delicate,
fingers covered in ink...
Like a stain waiting to claim a piece of your heart
with all the pieces of me.