the fire starts to corrupt the
mangled view of you, and i
am at war with my thoughts
for you always have had
a certainty in you - something
never to be crushed or doubted,
never to be considered irreverent
or irrelevant, something so
imperfect yet so beautiful and
magical and full of movement,
this poet never will pause or
cease, she will live and breathe
under your skin, with her iris
screaming, trembling, reaching.
No comments:
Post a Comment