fingertips brushed cold against my thighs
while the world was coated in the darkest of navies--
an almost[-but-not-quite] blackness
enveloped the building below us,
tainting each brick, staining the chipping mortar,
and shielding decades worth of life-inspired graffiti
the wind was hard and fast, carrying words across the skyline,
sometimes before they even landed upon the eager ears
they intended to reach
it felt like the perfect night
to scream obscenities
at the top of blackened lungs--
to rant and rave and cry and ache
and beat our chests and slam our fists--
and to just be okay with how fucked up
the world and all its people could be
but our lips were sewn shut
by a power much greater
than the two of us
so we let our eyes sting
and our conversation fade
as we looked out across the city lights--
standing twenty-two stories above the cement;
shivering from so much more
than the cold;
Author notes
there's something so poetic to me about cold winter nights spent on rooftops.
♥
Comments
-
this was beautiful my dear. I was so happy to see something new from you. I've missed your words...
that last stanza was amazing.
love you.
-
I love this poem. It just has a great atmosphere to it and it's your style.
-
-to rant and rave and cry and ache
and beat our chests and slam our fists--
been wanting to do that since ever.
-ending two lines were beautiful.
-i want a rooftop. balcony would be nice too.
-beautiful.
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