Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jan 2015
I always feared that when he touched me
he would draw back his hand in disgust.
Instead he holds me like old pages
chasing the foxes
he holds me like delicate lace
tracing each vine
and makes me feel rare
and beautiful.
god i know my poetry ***** im sorry
Ceridwen
Written by
Ceridwen
Please log in to view and add comments on poems