We dance with no light
In a slow-blooming room
Don’t forget that I fell too
Pluck roses from my palms
And we’ll pretend it’s love
I will open my veins
Until springwater descends
And pools near the fire
Set beneath your feet
I am soft water to you
That is, I used to be
Before the sudden end
And what am I to do?
It builds in my body
With no place to drain
I must have forgotten
In the need to put out
The fires you started
I could use the waters
That flow from my heart
To feed my own garden
YOU ARE READING
Inkblood Poetry
PoetryPoetry is the most efficient way for me to express things, even when I can't define it in a way that makes sense. And I think that's the beautiful thing about it - that poetry doesn't even need to be defined. It just exists.
