Spindlings

An ancient wound is nesting… my listless heart is resting.

It beats on the counter, slow tum tums on my pyschic drum.

I hear her begging to bed you.

I hear her fracture leaving little spindlings…

This is it.

This.

 Just this incomplete sentence,

 and me,

 and all the things I havent even felt yet. ..

I suppose its parting gift to me is a renewed need to create life.

 To breathe… to let my Libran heart open..

So this is it.

I give in.

I surrender… 

 

 

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s