LVII.
there are little bluebell butterflies crawling up your backbone.
you shiver with delight.
i want to taste every freckle
on your shoulders and collar
and back and neck
and ears.
i want to devour it all.
i wait until the day i meet you.
A
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fifteen (XV)
Poetryi prick my finger on a rose in my garden. my blood is not red. i take the wind caressing my face as a silent apology. cover art made by doradorapuff on tumblr. [2015] thank you to everyone who shared with me these short poems as they were published...
