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Your hands clasped hands,
When separated came with a blue hue
That made snow angels into tree decorations;
A golden harp held over the waist
With an iron safety pin. Stay in a house of ice,
Your breath bubbles & concocts chorus of heaven;
I've heard a song & wondered if you played it.
This is a watchtower, stranded & shining
Over icebergs that wear hairline fractures
Like a kiss of royals & clean them with vinegar.
When your solid hair sinks in the Antarctic,
Does a portal form to lure you in?
If we burn a fireplace in this icehouse,
Would the ceiling blink alive before giving in?
Now take this white cloth, wipe your hands
Off the blue & I'll do the same because
This is a kingdom: a static bolt of lightning
That wears a crown & sits on your clasped thighs.
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YOU ARE READING
ℎ𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑠 𝑎 𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑝𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑡
Poetry[ P O E T R Y ] ❝ maybe love makes us suffer so we love it more, as humans by nature seek pain because it is the greatest power that simply makes us feel. ❞ © 2019 cherrienoodles
