i can feel you
when
my chest is tight
and
the lump in my
throat
feels like a rock
–that i can't
swallow.
i breathe you
when i'm
sleeping and
when i
cannot sleep.
i bleed you
when
your words cut
my
sensitive
skin.
you're what my toes
feel
when i curl them
in
the spiky, cool grass.
you're the color
in my
cheeks; even when it's
not from
undying love.
YOU ARE READING
plastic
Поэзияmost wings are made of bones and skin and feathers, but what if mine are made of nothing but rubber and glue?
