I Love (the way you make me cry)

I am inside
with the bones whittled down
and the softness
sucked out
through the pen,
and my soles on the earth.
I think it makes me love you better,
because I could not love you more--
only better,
because neither of us were made right--
And nobody could tell
until we told ourselves
and orbited the Sun on Mars.



Poetry by MissAudreyKaye
Read 786 times
Written on 2008-11-15 at 15:42

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text