Your shirt burned perpetual stripes on my retina
so now with forced closed eyes I track your movement
not by the sticky braille of skin at my fingertips but
this dying radiation your luminosity there sears through
more porous green gets contained by the greater
density of black and through blind palms I see your marks
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Okay, I'm bad with poetry. forced closed eyes? porpus green? But I like the dying radiation, and the idea of a shirt's colour burning itself through eyelids and palms. I guess I get what it's about... sorta... maybe...
ReplyDeletePorpoise green? Ugh. I'm bad with poetry too. Just make like it's a really, really short story.
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