The Watermarks Across My Skin #10

“Write me out and let me

Drip dry against your paper stacks;

Let me into your cities and let me

Become the delicate brushes of your fine print.

I want nothing more than immortality,

Nothing smaller than rose petals on

Sundays,” and

You screamed to me as if on a cliff

As if I could

Tell you death was always a lie,

And somehow make you change your views of life and desire

With a few commas and run-on sentences.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s