it is 11:59 p.m
and i love you.
and in a minute,
when it is a new day
and bits of me have
been erased and i
can still see the vague
imprint of your face
on a pillow that has
taken your place,
i think i may love
you more than
i did a whole
minute before.
YOU ARE READING
deadroses || poetry
Poetry"we had a vision though, now we dead roses" now, why did she send them? these broken down, wilted, beat up, rotten-looking flowers.
