The seething cold that seeps into his skin pores
bleeds into his wooden guitar too—
and when he plays, all I hear
are Heaven’s tears pounding on the rooftop
like discordant footsteps in an empty room.
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 12:42 AM UTC
The seething cold that seeps into his skin pores
bleeds into his wooden guitar too—
and when he plays, all I hear
are Heaven’s tears pounding on the rooftop
like discordant footsteps in an empty room.
imagist
