Dec 7, 2010
2 notes
2 notes
noughts but crosses
Dry luck
flakes fallow forehead.
(I’ve come for you.)
It promises, a hundred times, to grow
and recklessly rakes the earth.
My nails: long, pointed, poignant.
Digging into and in with my hands.
Crossing and holing XXO
(I love you but you’re lost.)
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poetymologist likes this
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suddenlyimokay posted this
About
Where there are no tears, there will be words.
