"i'm going to stop biting my nails."
my statement left so assured until no reply came from your wilted, purple lips,
an ashen finger retreating promptly back between my own.
(she is an aquamarine dream.
and yet how fucking ironic is it that she too,
makes me blue,
her rock-pool skin scattered with schools of freckles,
sea anemone lashes batting their tempestuous waves against the eroding cavern of my chest to abandon me
s h i p W R E C K E D)
so you see,
i do not smoke with you to get high,
i do it only to wrap my crooked lips round the same exact area that yours did.
i know there is no hope for symmetry,
Some things are just not meant to be.
YOU ARE READING
spacejunk
Poetry'A lucid trip through the cosmos and constellations' ✦ · . ✷ ✦ ✦ · . ✷ ✷ ...
