Numb
Is the back of my head Where her splinters quake, The daggers of vulnerability. Promises of pain, Hopes of despair. My fingertips shift against the glass As our spotlights shine as hands touch I am a dismembered ship whose Rocky touch Smoothes the shore, your cement. Our lights shine purple and blue The glass shards sting not Under my nonexistent feet. The splinters pause, The grating subdues. I am a mountain. I touch the stars. -Margo
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MargoMy name isn't Margo. Archives
December 2019
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