undoing my mistakes sitting with you should be easier. i hold my hands out to you to part this sea. my blessed shore is adrift. i try to speak to you. my words hang limp, lumpen earrings. i sense you grow tired of wearing them. i caress your skin, gently as i can. touch leaves roses on your skin, but they wilt away to the thorns. i try to embrace you. i am wooden to the touch, oaken arms all grey shade, little softness for you to reach i kiss your forehead. your eyes don't light up like they used to. we were always bound to the twilight, weren't we? i try to wipe away your tears. diamond shreds blur your view of the horizon. helpless, i wish i could undo the strain of this earth. i tell you i am here for you, forever. we sit apart, together. relearning intimacy. when you rest on my shoulder, our wisteria blooms. ![]() Prem Sylvester is an Indian writer who turns into words the ideas he catches a whiff of from time to time. Sometimes people read these words. His work has appeared or is upcoming in Memoir Mixtapes, Rigorous, and Rising Phoenix Review. Comments are closed.
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December 2024
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