No blanket and no pillow.
I lie down on the grassy carpet,
Staring up into endless void,
Wishing on the stars I can't see.
He lies next to me,
His warm chest rising and falling.
I glimpse into his grey-blue eyes,
Remembering the way his breath tickled my ankles,
And I wonder if his embraces have always felt alive
As I stare into tussled, soft hair for a moment.
He looks at me. I gaze back.
"Have you always been so lonely?" I ask.
He just laughs.
"Yes." The words sound like the rustle of leaves.
"No one likes what I do." His chest heaves.
"I remind people of the end." His breath stutters.
He starts to cry, and in pain and awe, I shudder.
"It's okay."
I pull him into an embrace, holding the night in my arms.
He breathes a bit easier, a rhythmic tide running through
His body, his vessel feeling fragile and loveable.
I rock him a little, breathing into his hair
As I listen to the soft noises of this starless abyss.
"I see your value," I whisper gently.
And when I say it, I really do.
YOU ARE READING
Rose, Prose, Poetry
PoetryExploring topics of love, limerence, grief, and everything in between, this is a collection of 100 poems written over a year. The works both reflect inner emotions and outward connections, attempting to capture the interconnected nature of the worl...
