With every joyful sigh or song,
Hours and years pass hastily—
The tunes of ecstasy remain intact in pleasure and comfort;
The broken rhythms at my door
Leaning down upon my heart,
this ever-aching heart.
Even after years have passed,
they have remained to soothe.
With each passing ringtone—
I could find the heavy sunshine stinging my eyes,
Singing me pleasure and warmth.
YOU ARE READING
the slow art of breathing bitter
Poetryslow dancing love and pain in the midnight chorus of liquor-washed autumn green ... || a constellation of destructive poetry ||
