I'm the ghost you pulled out your throat
An amicable host painting lonely coasts
The nights appear deadly and serpentine
But that won't cease my brush turpentine
I won't forget to include the sunset colour
If you reverse and fall, I'll sketch the hour
Hold that canvas for me against the edge
If I finish, I'll hang it with stars on our bed.
YOU ARE READING
Oneirology
Poetry♦♦♦ Oneirology: the study of dreams. Dreary reality intertwined with nuances of dreamy phantasm; for when my quill is spitting iridescent rainbow mirages instead of murky ink puddles. ♦♦♦
