What's used to be
Your voice used
to be sweeter when you
talk about the things
you loved before.
Your hands used to be all
loving and tender—
soothing the aches in my
being like snow
melting on the first
kiss of sun in spring;
like balm on a burnt
out flesh.
Your smile used to be
my own only; a sanctuary
for my soul and those
arms—
it used to hold me
so securely—
it used to be my home.
YOU ARE READING
Under The Late October Skies
PoetryI am looking for the kind of love that is worthy of me and my words. ☽☀☾ -You will lose yourself in nirvana on this very surface and then- i will teach you how to navigate the stars knowing that even if you lose me, you will find your way back. ...
