Sunday, April 24, 2016

Skeletons

There is moonlight
in this tragedy
like metal bones against the storm.

Press your lips to mine 
and I taste your sin, 
your lies that scratch
and claw the back of my throat
with this disease of love.

It is a curse of unsettled whispers, 
and I dare stay afloat, 
bathing with your demons.

Come into the shadow box. 
Rest with me
your oblivion,
your lovelorn soul,
and let our skeletons dance together.
🌿bh

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