your gossamer soul
casted, flying to
tuck me into a lucid dream–

a wide-eyed somnambulist

has her fingers outstretched,
grasping for the color of your eyes
at the gauzy seams of
skies and seas.

your quicksilver blood
capricious, fleeting
further into her skin.

she lends her ears to recompense
for these tightly clenched fists
that ache for your calloused palms–

please wake up, my dearest:
the world does not belong to you.


Published by

c.v. grace

here lies my veins, tangled and suffocating.

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