vi. rust
how upsetting,
he would contend
when his thoughts
were too vulnerable
to notice
the empathy stains
against cold steel
and his
knowing gaze
misted
iron and silver
(both shades of grey
when eyes lost their
twinkle).
wet skies at noon
were always the best
when it was time
to slowly
turn
to
rust.
YOU ARE READING
jean chains
Poetry"you were different." © 2014 StealTheWorld - All rights reserved.
