31

128 51 35
                                    

there is a tender thing
that you are made of,
i feel it,
each time you
breathe.

you leave your mark
not by fire
or bringing mountains
to your feet
but like a soft-river
slowly trickling down my spine.

the water prickles my skin,
it's salty,
tears.

-

something different today

BareWhere stories live. Discover now