my bed remembers my body
cradles me
like a nest home to a bird
with broken bones
and i have never felt so brittle.
there's a dry loneliness
in the harsh halls of my hollows,
a sole heartbeat
carrying the sound of a thousand drums.
i want the nightingale's
sweet
wire-thin
melody
to carry me to the moon, solemn selene,
and i will
curl up in the craters
and press my cold cheek to hers.
love,
mari
YOU ARE READING
for the tarnished hearts
Poetrypoetry for the hearts tarnished by love or the sudden death of it. for the hearts that find a soft lullaby in the pages when raw hope is not enough to put the worries to sleep. for the hearts that bleed ink to paint the chalky roses of life red with...
