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Aug 2011
Dark dwelling deep in it's own despair marred meaninglessly in its essence
Cold coarse fleshed tiles spanning upwards into struts of splintered weathered wood
Smelling of stale sap and oak seeping into sullen sweat-stained sheets concealing constellations Within You
And Iā€”
Intertwined within
Amongst the stars
Our words lost somewhere between the rhythm of our heart
The synapses of our mind
And the nature of our nerves
To touch
Ian C Prescott
Written by
Ian C Prescott
591
 
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