Fingertip memories carve through me.
Neck nape scratch; Shimmering sheet of liquid glass, imitation.
As if the perfection of its surface were too unbearable to stand;
You were forced to embed your signature.
While my marrow froze,
I let you.
You became fossilized fragments of what has been, but never will be.
The past has been put into a capsule we will not open, in order to preserve the sparse instants of sacredness we fear will never again reveal themselves.
The imprint still aches as I attempt to regenerate.
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 10:53 PM UTC
Fingertip memories carve through me.
Neck nape scratch; Shimmering sheet of liquid glass, imitation.
As if the perfection of its surface were too unbearable to stand;
You were forced to embed your signature.
While my marrow froze,
I let you.
You became fossilized fragments of what has been, but never will be.
The past has been put into a capsule we will not open, in order to preserve the sparse instants of sacredness we fear will never again reveal themselves.
The imprint still aches as I attempt to regenerate.
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