Last night I dreamt of a boy who wrote poetry on my back with a soft black marker.

I felt every word like electricity – I felt what each line meant.

Though I never read what he wrote because it was quickly smudged by hands and sweat.

That night we were covered in smears of his powerful words all over us.

Poetry on my elbows, words on his lips, ink sinks in.

img177

Advertisements

~ by warpaintandwandering on May 11, 2013.

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