Just what i knead.

if fingers could,

then fingers would

tell the tale

of me

in truth be told

a tiny damn

would break and set

me free-

if eyes could lie,

in vicious need

of fading truths

and air

see i the time

where light bends down

and burns the cross

i bare-

if through black space

my words could fly

in perfect search

of breath

theyd land in secret

soft caress

and pull you back

from death.

About lifeofawillow

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