It's three AM and the stars are dancing, the car eating the road like a starving child, as the pines fly by, Solidified shadows in the night. The music is just a slight susurration, cutting the conversation into quarters with the scalpel blade of rhythm... But we have the heady breezes to assuage our bitter moments. And she... she refuses to love. It's been too painful to admit. Her heat beats in tandem with a thousand souls, but her mouth can't quite find the shape of the word love. I mean... it fits, because so many other expressions of it come out. Her shattered lexicon drips with reminders of it, and her eyes can scream it louder than any other part of her body... but it's not her words. She just can't find the shape of that word. So she will fret and worry and sass you until you know what she means. Just don't let it fool you... she loves by running. She loves with teeth... and she will love you... deeply.
YOU ARE READING
Floating
PoetryI've collected a lot of works I have made for me and thrown them into a mess of empathic poetry I have done for others.
