we try to step over the rosebush, but it's difficult while holding hands. you trip, so i pluck out the thorns while counting to three; the tears in your eyes never have a chance to fall. on the same fencepost, we have hardly enough space to sit, much less breathe; maybe that's why we don't do much of the second. there's no horizon anymore; i lost sight of it when your hands encircled my wrists.
and in the end, you let me be your daybreak.
YOU ARE READING
ennui
Poesiawill i fork lightning? will i catch and sing the sun in flight? highest: #12 poetry
