with you i feel
like a fire;
and you are the
one giving
me oxygen.
my flame will
grow
and
glow
and
burn
and
linger.
till i eventually
go out;
with one blow
from your
trembling, rosy lips.
my embers and coal
will turn
a chalky, cold white.
you'll pick me up,
crush me
between your hands,
and let the
wind
carry me far
away.
YOU ARE READING
plastic
Poetrymost wings are made of bones and skin and feathers, but what if mine are made of nothing but rubber and glue?
