at night

the soft talk i have to endure
and cannot swim
in the burgundy oceans
in cups
stuck to the minutes
that our cold hands
grasp well
but might not come back
from the furnace
that speaks smoothly

Advertisements

Author: martin

i'm martin, i'm 27 and i like to write poetry

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s