poetry

thaw

the drips and cracks

melt into

.

.

.

me

I start to play

with a Small block

of ocean

     stinging

my certain hands.

 

Powdered, clouded

water, saw

me off and tips

(the) fumbling fragments

    into

the story of a mirror.

 

you Come crumbling,

        c

     r

     a

c

k

e

d

shattered, and

undecided, singeing off

my Naivety, collected (and)

s-p-r-a-y-e-d.

 

 

 

PhilosopherPoet

 

Advertisements
Standard

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 )

Twitter picture

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

Facebook photo

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

Google+ photo

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

Connecting to %s