Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jun 2016
there is, after all,
one thing
(after my breath)

–a star–

hung loose
and into the night
(which is my soul)

dreaming through
moist lips
and the cup of flower

a kissing of pale light;
the rough newness of rain;
and the smell softly afterward.
PK Wakefield
Written by
PK Wakefield
  606
     hello, JJ Hutton, victoria, ---, --- and 6 others
Please log in to view and add comments on poems