Isn’t that what the moon teaches us?
Forever tainted by deaths
its pout is invisible to the naked eye—
you strike to me as the dreamy type
and for reasons unknown
I am led deeper into your web.
A shadow of a dream, I think back to days of innocence
wandering the streets unaccompanied—
I walked in Spring,
dripping willows, old oaks and poplars;
one needs to go slowly,
know that soft tendril of whispered nothings means only
to tease us—
I am no longer fragile,
my pen dipped low in salted conversations;
the moon is aware of ballads resting upon our lips
the only question is,
can we tell the truth apart from lies?
The essence of my hot pink lipstick stain never betrays.
Photo credits: Pinterest
A Skylover Wordlist: Salt, conversation, parables,
ballad, death and entrances 💝
Posted for the Writers’ Pantry @ Poets and Storytellers United