i want to press my palms into your eyelids so you'll grow to learn the whorls in the atlas of my fingertips/map my skin down to your soft bones/and breathe your sickness into my air/let your limbs curl into every creek and crevice/the hollows in my ribs where you have/burrowed, made your young habitat/where you have cast your gentle eyes to my/flesh,
YOU ARE READING
tyrants
Poetrythe kind of love i've been dreaming of 2018 - 2023 #29 in poetry, 2nd april 2023 #56 in prose, 23rd may 2019 #16 in non fiction, 6th april 2023
