The tips of our fingers
can barely meet
But I am only real
and she is made of shadow
It’s a long way
to reach out and touch her lips
The feather of her breath
enough to make the candle flicker
There are dreams behind her eyelids
that I have no chance of hearing
My hand lands on an empty pillow
where the tips of our lives
just barely met
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 10:00 AM UTC
The tips of our fingers
can barely meet
But I am only real
and she is made of shadow
It’s a long way
to reach out and touch her lips
The feather of her breath
enough to make the candle flicker
There are dreams behind her eyelids
that I have no chance of hearing
My hand lands on an empty pillow
where the tips of our lives
just barely met
