Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jan 2018
your skin was weaved from moonlight and glistening dust,
that danced with the fireflies
and painted empty canvases atop empty canvases.
sometimes in the latest of nights,
i can still see a fragment of your soul,
illuminated on the silken sheets.
unnamed
Written by
unnamed  wandering
(wandering)   
212
   Glassmuncher
Please log in to view and add comments on poems