The blades caress my skin
As I tread from one world to the next.
The moon, pale, lights tiny stages as shades
Dance with whispers of wind, swaying in the leaves.
Fancy lends each stage a story,
But I only know one in depth.
It's a short story;
A love story abruptly forlorn.
As I dream of no end
I lay my head against her stone.
No comments:
Post a Comment