a pale blue iris,
sweet speck of red paint.
on his tongue it melts,
down his throat it glides.
chiseled hole in plaster,
complacent pupils peers through.
the concept of time on his lips,
the story of age in his hands.
his arms tangled in his hair,
his skin is as cold as love.
you may not recognize his eyes on you,
but they have never receded.
YOU ARE READING
red-stained fingertips
Poetryprose and poetry and blood and romance. a fucking stupid combination. ‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊ TW: some poems mention suicide, self-harm, homophobia, and eating disorders started in september of 2021 #4 in poetry 8 . 8 . 23
