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
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
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