PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I cringe every time I step on that floorboard that squeaks
and reminds me that I'm still here with weight and space
and the imperfections sewn between my fingers.
We discuss the preferences of pixels and
I hunger
for you to reach your hand through space and time to grasp mine
because I already know the smile on your face
left over from the years when we were still laying on lawns
with dreams leaking from out tongues
without the sense to swallow.

I keep thinking that my bones will hold the key to my salvation.

Maybe their marrow will nourish the notions
that I need Me to survive.