Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jun 2013
There is a Tempest in my head,
The boy who knew my blood.
Probably insane.
But he knew me, nonetheless.
We spoke of ghosts and comforts of hurt
All night until you slept.
Your irish tone sank deep
And resonated within my bones.
Anna
Written by
Anna
319
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems