The blue midnight songs
crash down at my door,
the soft rhythm of glee playing throughout.
The echoes fill the fainted murmurs
as the moon kisses the waves.
A hollow voice runs through
the low winds blown—
A lone flower hears the laughter of
A drop of blood playing with a drop of dew.
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A/N: The last part was a bit shivering, wasn't it? Why not cast an assuring vote before leaving? Thanks! :)
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the slow art of breathing bitter
Poetryslow dancing love and pain in the midnight chorus of liquor-washed autumn green ... || a constellation of destructive poetry ||
