A spilled wine glass
and a half-finished
sentence, scattered
paper and broken
plates.
this is what we
are, a damaged
version of what we
used to be.
You spending days
drinking our love
away, and me trying
to find my voice
to talk you out of
it, just to have it
stuck in my throat
for the day I met
you I turned mute.
I breathe you into
my lungs to find
your name caoted
in her scent, and
wonder if you stay
awake at night to
plant seeds into
the open flesh of
her chest, and tell
her to busy herself
growing them into
flowers when you're
not there. I wonder
if you rub the scars
on her back to make
her forget what she
once fought for, but
whisper into her ear
that you're turning
her beautiful. I
wonder if you hold
her hand so tight
you leave her with
bruises, whenever
her feet walk an
inch away from you .
I wonder if she knows
about me , if she's
smelt my perfume
on you, seen the
flowers I grew into
words I could never
say, if she noticed
my blue knuckles
hidden behind a
poem written in
blood. I wonder
if she became so
tired she holds you
against the garden
of her ribcage and
begs you to stay.
YOU ARE READING
Dried petals
Poetry"and I find myself tucking your smile in the space that lies between every letter .for babe , if I can't keep you by my side ,then I'll lock you in each poem these hands write down ."_Aya Highest rank #43 in poetry on 23/7/2017 .
