Jul 24, 2021
1 min read
Here
A prose poem for the grieving hearts.
You are the kind of person whose eyes scan hearts to grow into, and when I kissed you I did it because I wanted to know what it was like to kiss someone who I know is going to die soon.
There was even some candle wax in your cologne and your lips blossomed on mine as those white flowers they use brighten funerals. This honey doesn’t taste like fear, tastes of years…
