silk skin laid over
the chair in which i thought
my words may mean something
mean more than lips do
so sweet was the undertones
of their soul laid on me
met in the heat of heaven
slowly melt the numbers
south of the border
where we meet to seek
a fortune with no monetary
valued before our sweet lord
oh the comfort of nothing
left in a room of faith
without a second thought
but you over the top
the sweet undone of it all
life left in a bottle uncapped
on the floor next to our skin
slow aeroma sweeping in
to die in plain view
of our lost holy ghost
only waking to the voice
of our own angels
tonight may i find you
on my chair once more
waiting for me to breathe
in your life and speak your name
and i can't wait
to be your last thought
YOU ARE READING
if not human
Poetrythe anthology of emotion, the passing of life, the epilogue of pure, unfiltered regret this is "if not human" poems, prose and stories from the dark
