sometimes we collide
against the moon
whose skin remains torn
like words we often speak
and I fall
from illusive swings
that never hold me
long enough to dream.
Is it me
with muddy feet
walking across our lives
leaving stains that won't wash out
or us
in our playground of discontent
working each others breathe
to its core?
I'll stand back
and retrace broken fingers
that became untied at the bone ~
holding you
with a voice that shall refrain for screams
and softly settle upon cushions of love
deeply
Silver trophy winner
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