You
the violent crystal, the mad dandelion,
tattering down my flimsy curtains and
showing us your soul in response to ours,
You
cannot be leaving, cannot be singing
your blue farewell out into the night and
we cannot lose you, you're our dreams, and dreams don't lose, don't
run out of time.
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.
