Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Feb 2016
It is infinite
The way we breathe and feel
Undefined
But inescapable

Hold out eight fingers
To trace the outline
Of my ribs
Fall on your side

The universe is
A mystery to you

But it’s far too small
For me
pluie d'été
Written by
pluie d'été
Please log in to view and add comments on poems