poetry

Dreams and talks

I could smell your wine, 
your amniotic sheets
of pure stars and silicon lullaby,
regenerating my outgrown toes and stale stairs.
this head wrap is a lie,
if your nights do not talk to mine.
You become my pool of waters and waters
that kills my dead skin, on repeats.

You wander, like a dream
soft and tiny
in my 4 A.M talks, the moment of collision
I see your swapping legs and arms
kisses and poetry
tears and scars,
A mulberry sheet of dreams.
I could smell you once again
in the words of pillow marks,
in the arch of my windowsill.
Knitting and defying this entire life,
you do it in a pattern.
You do it always.

©MVS

NaPoWriMo#14