deepundergroundpoetry.com
drafting perfect sense
you've been sitting on a sentiment of bricks
stuck together
by the lowliest of things
for such a long time now.
your feet couldn't be further from the ground.
i keep forgetting that poison
is no longer in the shape
of fangs or ruby apples
and that beauty isn't skin deep, it's
how perfectly we outline
when the room is cold.
a man once tried to convince me
that he was interested in art as much as i was:
that our naked bodies
would be
the perfect
sculpture.
i told him it would never happen
because he looked
nothing like the man
i kissed in my
dreams.
you told me
you didn't like starry-eyed girls.
i thought you were joking
because of how much
you loved
looking at the sky
on a clear night.
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