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by Erin
Rated: ASR · Poetry · Personal · #638578
It's what you make of it, right? Perceptions of human understanding.
Cold
Slides over my legs
Caressing the curves of
My skin.
Darkness hides the stars.
I sing cocoons into the air
Stain my throat
With violets.
Someone hears me
Listening
To the trembling shadows
At my feet.
I sing of two sunsets
Without a dawn.
Only my echo
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/638578-Cold