You inhale to fill the emptiness in your lungs;
a seed is planted as you breath in the world,
the inhalation of sunlight and humidity in the summer air allow the seed to grow, flourishing
its stem winding around your ribs of tree bark and replacing your veins.
Pale skin wraps around the garden enveloping your skeleton;
as he reaches for you, the sharp contours of your ribs become real,
gravitating towards you he aspires to pull the garden from beneath your skin, so the buds blooming under his touch maybe visible to the world outside of the one within you.
YOU ARE READING
Pondering
PoetryI write because emotion spills out of me. This is a collection of my poems and other writing. "My words are tiny pieces of me, each one specially woven just for you. And I will give, and give, and give, and give, until I am nothing and I become your...
