It is love that never sees the sun,
a half dead mouse in the cruelly playful mouth of a cat,a gaze that never arrives,stares that last way too long.
It is warm bodies with cold fingers,
a strand of hair you can never put back into place. Limbs you cannot show tenderness to.
Love that never sees the sun.
YOU ARE READING
Purple blush
Poetry''Everything you did to me, I remember. Mama, I made it out of your home alive, raised by the voices in my head. '' -Warsan Shire, Extreme girlhood
