girlish, warm-blooded
sheep in wolf’s clothing
eyes glisten with a shred of world
pools for tongues to lick
youth spilling over the walls
home in a bubble or a cloud
limbs like railings to be gripped
hips like bannisters to slide down
eventually,
nowhere else to go
house creaks like a dying thing
and my hands grow tired of skin
and you cut your hair
and i gasp at the death
how could we have aspired
to be anything for each other?
Leave a Reply