Wednesday, 12 June 2019

like a poem will never be written

how does one describe the exhalation of breath the incomplete gesture the tangible space suddenly apparent?

there is a part of me died with you a fragment a trailing cry pulling at my hair wanting to lash out and break...

something to see the color of my blood as a way in...as a way out to look for you

all this is like a poem that never will be written. to die to find you. to leave this alien place premature and come home. 

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