(for jedy)
Hair borrowing the sun,
the curls echoing years of tears.
Only battlefields
line your brown thighs.
The day relapses on black fear
found in streets and throats.
You, reading the
reflection as enemy,
reflection as death.
You are still breathing
icy breath and tainted eyes,
bare as bears bore.
Tangerines
line your stolen lips.
Excuses
tear open your mouth,
because it's safer to
hide it all beneath the roses.
If I could, I would
take away all the sharp things,
including the words.
YOU ARE READING
PERCHED PARCHED BUTTERFLY
PoetryYour voice is the paint I take to the sky, splattering it all over, so they can all know you're nigh.
