/I grieve only and only for the romance, how beautiful it must have been for the earth to be the last thing to see before she died/
my
grief
grows
in me
the air that inhabits
for only a moment
frozen between my fingers.
tomorrow I will be happier
but on the last hours of a dying decade
the grief cuts my skin, silver sharp,
I wish
I could
walk barefoot on broken glass
lonely as a dog in outer space.
YOU ARE READING
Doux
Poetrythe walls with blued body scents soft on the skin, the curtains drawn and a lover asleep close by. ...
