cranberry juice splashes against my tongue.
it's a ghost flavor-
enriching nothing but what I wish could be.
you're gone.
but i don't know if i'll know that until i see your casket,
the folds of white glittered by brutal spotlights.
you were so kind-
i forget even the kindest of people pass on.
eventually all that once glittered, becomes soil.
eventually all that once filled a room,
makes one empty too.
but all i can do is wish the moon will shine on you-
wherever you are.
YOU ARE READING
speak softly
Poetryyou speak until your breath gives out, and the shallow huffs of words they never heard beg to be buried; but live on in the sidewalks. - - - prose/poetry
