Islands

It has been some time
since I last allowed my
skin to meander -
awash of worry and sickness.
I fear that I have become the
very thing I feared the most
and that islands have risen 
on my forearms, around which
veins must flow to forgotten
peninsulas where my heart
once thrummed. 

It has been some time
since my eyelashes stroked your thighs
since my voice touched your insides.
I'm folded in dead romance,
filled with ancient song
and punch drunk from old, familiar stars.
There is no one like us in adulthood.

The End

29 comments about this poem Feed