~ twixx ~

I bet you're not.

but that is not right

fingers entwined in hers, i walk a dirt path mapped out by years of footsteps before me.

if i were made of paper, i'd write you love letters in my skin

when my eyes quiver open, they are clouded with a thousand years of slumber's remnant

it is in the cooling crest of the essence of autumn that to the edge of the forest i venture to roam

a poem about being an idea

there's moonlight in your touch