gloved hand,
sirens small in the distance,
obediently wailing.
Gently take off my
dirty jeans,
overlooking the
wooded valley, filled deep,
a saturated trail.
We are a folded piece of paper,
blood across a dirt floor
written in what could be fire.
Walk with me,
unable to be gold,
to lovingly frame
my eye, my face.
Don't say exactly
what it is you're
talking about until
we see the light
sweep slowly
across the walls.
No comments:
Post a Comment