You are the droplets of condensation
On my lemonade, clinging to my palms
You are the cause of the cold sensation
That is yet hot, and painful yet it calms
You are the piercing light of the stars, just
Not the stars themselves, whereas the stars are
Unreachable, you are like the stars' dust;
You're always around me and never far
You, love, are the speck of dust and I am
The furniture; you stay with me, refuse
To leave, and though you are barely a gram,
When you are not there, it is clear I lose
The grace of your soul makes it all too true
I need you, I want you — love, I love you.
YOU ARE READING
From When I Could Write
PoetryA collection of poems and short stories from when I actually had talent, because it all seems to have disappeared since last year.
