wreathe of words sprout
upon doorstep bed
beneath a far-looking moon,
whisper to ear
upon fading footfalls,
daily gaining near
nestled between gaps
of tiles and grout
waiting for mistletoe
to be hung again
warm embrace shall follow,
as fingers fumble for keys
that will turn the locks
that leave me fettered . . .
. . . each time you leave
-
Author:
crypticbard (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: March 5th, 2026 05:54
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 1
- In collections: delayed telecast.
Offline)
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