The ghost of your arms encircle my waist
Pulling me close to the memory of you.
I can still hear the whisper of your words on the wind,
Can still feel the delicate touch of your fingertips
Slowly tracing patterns down my arm.
Your voice blazed paths in my mind
And I can't escape.
YOU ARE READING
Muddled
PoetryA collection of (ish) poetry for 2019. I guess this is the physical display of my muddled thoughts thorughout the year. I hope they make sense to someone one day. Enjoy, I guess.
