My lungs are laced with sober winters.
My lips are made of sleepless rain.
I remember you whispered to me once,
“Saltwater dreams spill from your veins.”
The galaxies seemed to ripple
When you kissed them in your palm.
But you were just a delicious illusion.
You were a silent psalm.
My lips are made of sleepless rain.
I remember you whispered to me once,
“Saltwater dreams spill from your veins.”
The galaxies seemed to ripple
When you kissed them in your palm.
But you were just a delicious illusion.
You were a silent psalm.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.
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