poetry

All I crave

 

Au coin de feu, Detail. by Auguste Toulmouche (1878)
image credits- Pinterest

 

It’s like crawling slowly and steadily on my skin, my cold skill refuses that baked slice

of lemon to provide composure, oh, the moon, show me your silver beam in this sunny gold pyramid.

It’s something like a blatant truth now suffocating my inside organs.

Clenching my unsaid words, devouring my amorphous fidelity

And, all my fingers crave is to play the music of your heart.

                                                                   ©My Valiant Soul


 

28 thoughts on “All I crave

  1. Love does this to us. It makes us yearn the night so we can go crazy. When we try to compose ourselves, our skin crawls, that is so true. I felt the anticipation in this one, MVS. I hope your fingers get to play a lifetime of music on that heart 🙂

    Liked by 2 people

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