On sandpaper skin
is what feels like home
and your nails are scattered
like stars
On a tethered ship
where anchors been swallowed
by predatory holes
this is where the water boils
Graves are made for those who die
But what If we're on this ship
and it comes pouring down
We'll disappear
with no graves
just water
There is dirt on our faces
deep into our pores
and you seem askew
like me
We've been bound by yarn
weaves and stitches
into a mess
This is where we come undone
Graves are made for those who die
but on this ship
it comes pouring down
We'll float away
with no graves
just a bed of water
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment