i belong in a second hand shop
with the marred and broken things
headless toys, so much noise
old and dusty chains
you belonged in a museum
with the passionates and the stars
look once, look twice,
can you see gold embroidery in his scars?
YOU ARE READING
The Wilting
Poetrythe wilting of words & the rebirth. a book of poems, heartaches & trust. © cora kane, 2019
