Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
For her, I can be apropos;
instrumentally delicate, divided
as strands of restlessness
that curl from duets to nonets;
patterns that branch and pulse
from heartbeat to pain
to breath and back again.
I can be inventive -
re-balance myself, en pointe and mute;
entwine our destinies for a while.
My noir threads twist in shadow,
while hers unfurl in the light.
YOU ARE READING
Bedtime Prophecies
PoetryPoetic perceptions from a dissociative identity poet. Clearing the wardrobe to find a missing ring; found you instead in my discard pile.
