You're inches underneath my skin,
cut me open and I'll bleed the colour of your eyes.
But that's what love is, isn't it?
I find traces of you in my arteries,
my pluviophilic lungs gasp
for the petrichor lining your throat
and I swear
our ribs fit like puzzle pieces.
(I trace the lines in your palms
and they mimic my scars)
((Not even Zeus could separate us))
YOU ARE READING
Amaranthine (Poetry)
PoesíaJust a few poems written by myself. I mainly post on DeviantArt under the username Glasses-And-Blades.
