the owl lives behind the ski check
my hair, entangled in his claws
he pulls me from my room
out my window
into the darkness
the wind here
it’s strong enough to lift me away
to drag me under
golden brown strands
he calls me to his nest
we become contortionists
bending and folding to his will
how pure it feels, flying
you wont even notice the cold air
you wont even notice his beak
digging into you as you sleep
enveloped in the branches
I awake in my bed again
grass stains knees green
blood stains memories red
forget my darling, forget
-
Author:
anemoia (
Offline) - Published: April 27th, 2024 15:29
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 5
- Users favorite of this poem: carpe4diem
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