wrists like stitched seams into tawny arteries of solitude transient solace, honeyed dulcet melodies yet insubstantial of feverish nectar swimming in the soul of forlorn.
her skin wilted until bones of raw saltwater, and i wanted to feel her willowy fingers interlocked with my own.
cold, filled with tattered scourge of her pulverized insobriety, she kissed my skin and whispered lilac butterscotch promises into my veins.
i believed her coffee eyes were made out of honeyed convivial, yet wrists stitched like seams burst open and she was left in a pool of somber regrets as i cried to the moon that kissed my aching bones, and held me between the sheets of my tears in the chaotic despair.