Feb 25
In stillness, I inscribe your void,
A pulse drowned in distance.
You burn, distant,
A wound I wear to breathe.
Love— a murmur lost to glass,
A thirst in the marrow of nothing.
A pulse drowned in distance.
You burn, distant,
A wound I wear to breathe.
Love— a murmur lost to glass,
A thirst in the marrow of nothing.
