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jopoPoems
I don't even have words, For the ways that I don't feel, I am not the waving of the fields. I hold onto songs about the moon, My tides do not swell with her, I am more the darkness in this room, Cold, unmoving, absolute. I am not the motion of your hair, As he runs his fingers through it, I no longer even stare. I Am not the climbing of tree, I do not yearn upward, Is there anything to see? (or be?) I am not the warmness of your breath, Clinging tight to your fingers, And the inside of your chest, I am not the dreams you make, As dragons fly by night, And sparks flow in your wake. I am not the whispers, You feel close to your ears, I am more like distant echoes,
0
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 12:27 AM UTC
doritos are flammable
I don't even have words, For the ways that I don't feel, I am not the waving of the fields. I hold onto songs about the moon, My tides do not swell with her, I am more the darkness in this room, Cold, unmoving, absolute. I am not the motion of your hair, As he runs his fingers through it, I no longer even stare. I Am not the climbing of tree, I do not yearn upward, Is there anything to see? (or be?) I am not the warmness of your breath, Clinging tight to your fingers, And the inside of your chest, I am not the dreams you make, As dragons fly by night, And sparks flow in your wake. I am not the whispers, You feel close to your ears, I am more like distant echoes,
jopo
Written by
jopo
American
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 12:27 AM UTC
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