The expression of
your skin against
mine.
The energy of
anger when you got
too close to reading
between the lines.
The extravagance
of grief that shot
me in the chest
that's,
every ounce of
my being
lovingly in a box
flush and beautiful
inside alone,
without the key
that I burned and
cheaply made,
to ever allow
its light stained
appearance to
only be seen.
May 21
May 21, 2026 at 10:32 AM UTC
The expression of
your skin against
mine.
The energy of
anger when you got
too close to reading
between the lines.
The extravagance
of grief that shot
me in the chest
that's,
every ounce of
my being
lovingly in a box
flush and beautiful
inside alone,
without the key
that I burned and
cheaply made,
to ever allow
its light stained
appearance to
only be seen.
