you rip the clouds
from the sky itself....
head swaying side to side,
eyes lost in the museum
of feelings too long denied.
babbling odes to the gods,
breathing breath stolen
from a primeval forest....
naming the color
your fingers buried
in my hair!
postcards written in flesh!
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Tiny Deaths by Eric Cockrell )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
- sometimes dead is better, Mandolyn Davidson
- it's a good thing we never were, Mandolyn Davidson
- Great And Noble Nations, David Harris
- i'm aging. it's in the script., Mandolyn Davidson
- tripping the alarm on a nightmare, Mandolyn Davidson
- Letters To Myself, Margarita Kamal
- When A Man Loves You, tallulah montegue
- Duty Is Prime, Upendra Singh
- Gravesites of the roads, BrokenHeartPheko Motaung
- Gibran Khalil Gibran, Nassy Fesharaki