Daya
Your eyes like electric feel.
Cold swords to a still heart,
Dry as a pair of chapped lips.
And you, so wet and good
So new, like grassy morning dew.
Retrospect, my love back home
Bearing down autumn leaves.
How the girl used to be gold
And she, tired and bored
Has left my digital bath long ago.
The smoothest scales, bearing fruit.
Down the halls and up the stairs.
I remain true, however, but watch you
Bringing beauty of golden ratios
Like the hearty songs on my radio.
👁 4💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
If you or someone you know is struggling, you are not alone.
988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline — call or text 988, 24/7. Crisis Text Line — text HELLO to 741741.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
Comments are closed for this poem.