You, with a warning on your face;
you, a sign to stay away.
The night is calling once again,
whispers pressed against each other’s necks.
Soft is the gravity but not the crash.
Words delicate, feelings harsh,
the silence doesn’t last.
Your hands of marble leave me cold,
wishing for more, becoming bold.
Having learned how to turn a blind eye to it,
I end up running toward my own defeat.
Aug 16, 2019
Aug 16, 2019 at 4:26 PM UTC
You, with a warning on your face;
you, a sign to stay away.
The night is calling once again,
whispers pressed against each other’s necks.
Soft is the gravity but not the crash.
Words delicate, feelings harsh,
the silence doesn’t last.
Your hands of marble leave me cold,
wishing for more, becoming bold.
Having learned how to turn a blind eye to it,
I end up running toward my own defeat.
Request permission to use this poem