There is dissonance in you.
In your boyish grin and frown-lined forehead.
In the light radiating from your eyes and the pop bottle stab wound scar on your side.
In the fighter's callouses that mark your hands and the gentle caress of your fingertips against my back.
In your wrath and calm acceptance.
Why did I have to lose someone so perfect?
YOU ARE READING
Desolate Moon (SS 2)
Poetrymore exhibitionism, more emotional outbursts, more uncomfortably uncut honesty. TRIGGER WARNING.
