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
Comments