Maps of the World
Sometimes the world is very small,
flat, wrinkled and yellow.
Everywhere I’ve been can fit under your thumb,
every house, ever line of sand where the world ends,
hidden from my eyes
I lie beside you in silence, knowing,
music floats from you like breathe, I feel you exhale like an accordion,
and there are only two nights left,
until you fall off the page
until I can place you on a map
but can’t see you on the horizon
or under the covers
Also pimpin da website:
http://www.fictionpress.com/u/430441/
Home