Wednesday, November 30, 2016

Allison Morris #29 'If You'

Tonight, if you
crawled, clawed your way
out of your dark grave,
and came to me,
I would stroke the dirt from your
beautiful, decaying face.
Kiss your forehead, 
grassy and rank,
and haul your precious bones 
into my lap,
humming with love.
And should the grave call you back,
too far from me–

this time I would follow. 


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