deepundergroundpoetry.com
‘Spilled’
we are spent on stories
that sleep beneath our fingertips,
drawing out hollow caves,
until dusk is all that fills our hearts
brittle and morose,
huddled in,
half-eaten hiding spots,
with fountain pens for fingertips
we wonder why,
ink pours,
after dark
that sleep beneath our fingertips,
drawing out hollow caves,
until dusk is all that fills our hearts
brittle and morose,
huddled in,
half-eaten hiding spots,
with fountain pens for fingertips
we wonder why,
ink pours,
after dark
Published 31st Aug 2024
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