I am finally washing myself
From all the dust
All my wounds healed
My body a dress of scars
I cannot stand
Sleeping on lovers' bones
Or writing letters to the dead
Any longer
However, how weird is it
That I miss the kiss
The lips
The warmth of touch
The rush of blood
In my veins?
[That's why
Sometimes
I'm awake by
The silence of the night
It sounds like
The whispers of my ghosts]
YOU ARE READING
H I M
Poesia"Blue eyes for distant Stars Honey eyes for Sunlight, We are the crashing of waves on sand Tree branches reaching for the bright sky We are where you end and I start; We were made to belong." This is a chapter in a book I am putting together. And t...
