Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Apr 2014
The city lights up like a crowded constellation,
but not one star shines brighter to guide me home to you.

And then there were the words I left unsaid:
My head still stuck on the stars,
the confessions dissolve into the atmosphere.
Arvel Azcoe
Written by
Arvel Azcoe  Chicago
(Chicago)   
631
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems