deepundergroundpoetry.com

Midflight

I want to crawl inside of you

To feel your fragile, bird boned pulse

I want to put my hands on your pale throat

Angels cannot hold a candle to you

(not even when they fall, not without being burned)

We are such small things, crickets

Beneath the weight of this life we tremble

Desperately holding hands against the coming storm

We treasure such fleeting things

We warble in our lemming anxiety

(Too many people)

(Too many sheep)

We head for the nearest cliff, wreathed in anticipation

Only to come crashing down midflight
Written by lunacherry
Published
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