Lullaby
The sound of your voice is the end of me
that it would even echo in my serene sleep
taunting me to wonder even in my dreams
of how my name would sound from your lips
though such is one of hundred impossibilities
where odds would never let that fantasy be
and so I would die alone accepting its reality
for your lips were made for him and not me
YOU ARE READING
Metaphors Beneath the Riptides
Poetry"Your I-love-you was like a scribble in a sand- At first it was there then next it was not" Metaphors beneath the Riptides An Anthology By Eos Pleuvoir 2020 Cover Made with Canva
