In the spill of drool over my bottom lip
Like a lilac canvas stretched over your bone.
An animated canvas of flesh with grey eyes.
Derived in the monochrome palette.
Where you’d grip me with cold hands.
Soaking in my warmth, pulling me into the lake of my own spit.
And I’ve known you, like eyes in the mirror-
Realizing your body, they inhabit isn't mine.
And my eyes are brown, yours are grey.
And we blend into a black and meld in the swirls.
Of our mixing blood below a sea of swells.
And beyond any shred of reasonable thought.
I can’t pronounce your name from my quivering lips.
About the Creator
S.W.
A poet by way of life. Words just came easy to me, though I may never write a bestseller. I just want you to feel understood. At the end of my work if we’re closer than when you started reading I’ve done my part.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.