collarbone pressed to the windowpane,
the green hills roll down your house,
trickle down into the water and sift
into sand, stretch out the coast
across that ocean, i am waiting,
i lift my foot off the ground and twirl,
body pointed like a weather-vane
metallic and rusting to you
when i see you our mouths will fuse
and i'll paint you concrete like the city
and your eyes will be revolving doors
that adults get stuck in to twirl
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 12:55 AM UTC
collarbone pressed to the windowpane,
the green hills roll down your house,
trickle down into the water and sift
into sand, stretch out the coast
across that ocean, i am waiting,
i lift my foot off the ground and twirl,
body pointed like a weather-vane
metallic and rusting to you
when i see you our mouths will fuse
and i'll paint you concrete like the city
and your eyes will be revolving doors
that adults get stuck in to twirl
Request permission to use this poem