Pigmented-pressure Points

Our bodies are crooked-pigmented- pressure points.Stacks of lose boards. Mine throat a crumbling stone chimney.Yours a pipe bending with all the pressure built up in you're chest. We creek in the way neglected floor boards do under weight. Hands, tangled rope bundles, brittle with years of water logged service.Our bones have been hit by waves from all directions.But our hearts are weather proof. Wether or not we believe them.On day the world is to much for these old bones,I curl up in your Cupid's bow. Drift away in the the stitching of your embroidery. I want you to stitch my skin into something I can always love. Like the little images you've left in my skin,I want you to last. Endure the mania that we both bend to.Because there's something in your words that take the weight off my soul,allows the corners of my mouth to bend to your every whim.And your wild strawberry heart is growing in the shine from my front porch light soul.Be my home to come back to, Be the comfort I need, And I'll be yours. I'm yours. 

This poem is about: 
Me

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