Hearts cannot be bound
they skrit across dreams like pebbles,
sinking, stone heavy
into the depths of sleeping water.
Will they wait?
These inner vaults crammed tight
like tombs with fading faces;
until old wounds push forth new flesh.
Can kisses be kept
amongst the brick-a-brack of memory?
Stolen in the night
and as soft as secret smiles.
Is there not a space beyond
the coil of heavy slumber,
where hearts can roam
to land their kisses where they fancy?















Comments
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Well behaved women don't make history
Oh, and I lost the game!
--
the sun does rise
The ending is actual perfection
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