Return what makes me
Sentence quill
From cage to its freedom,
Breaking as the shell
Upon you, my well.
Rise to me,
Do not recede from me,
While I walk with heavy stones,
Dragging currents along
Petaled eyelids.
Run over me
Your sweeping breath,
Forming decay into
Its strengthened return,
From death.
I will what cannot
Commence, with ease,
On the onslaught
For these subdued emotions
Concealing all the earth’s oceans.
Reblogged this on Roger's Vault.
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