xiv. frost
he was a dream
standing on my porch
backed by the dark of night
but still flaming with
the streetlights.
you are nothing.
slow, like morning frost,
it conceals my chest
and i know i'm strong
but ice always melts
eventually.
i know.
YOU ARE READING
jean chains
Poetry"you were different." © 2014 StealTheWorld - All rights reserved.
