you are
nothing but limbs,
weaving your fingers to break the wind
between the branches of your caprice.
--
your heart hangs in tendrils;
a disembodied echo
between my breath.
Author notes
Maybe.
A contest entry
- more than watchmen wait for the morning by Asabouros..
700 points, ended August 20, 7 entries
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• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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It's very cryptic, but I get a sense of...hesitant acceptance of something.
Maybe some resentment.
I like the color choice, too...it sort of implies that these thoughts are pushed back into some kind of haze.
Although, I may be reading too much into it.
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