Leave them,
They're sleeping
But we are awake
In the most equivocal
Parts of our lives
Effervescent,
Breathing vapours of
New secrets while
Pacts are made under
The promises of night
Interlock
Fingers, interweave
Love, then there's
The recklessness and
Unforgivable cold.
Made light
With laughter, dream
Of our futures there's
Nothing more to us
Than who we are
At this moment.
YOU ARE READING
Petrichor
PoetryWe grow old eventually {here are the waking thoughts that consume me}
