we move from
the steady breeze of my ceiling fan
to the peachy luminescence of the street lights
piercing thick midnight air
you reach up and grasp the moon
you hand it to me
but not before the moonlight drips down your fingertips
and saturates the entirety of your arm
it's heavier than expected
it must be a haven for children's foolish wishes
and adult's vast secrets
it slips from my nectar fingertips
shattering on the very asphalt we stand on
we look away
for this is an impossible sight
we are soon escorted towards the stars
don't you know?
the sky cannot be without a moon
YOU ARE READING
deluge
شِعرa downpour of thoughts, a delve into the most intricate inner-workings of my mind 2020 © rosy
