After the dance
at the foot of the sun
there is a sadness
twisting inside.
It is a pale scarf tied to
the bedpost.
It is sitting graypain
by the window petalsnow
as we dress.
We do not
speak it.
.
.
After the dance
at the foot of the sun
there is a sadness
twisting inside.
It is a pale scarf tied to
the bedpost.
It is sitting graypain
by the window petalsnow
as we dress.
We do not
speak it.
.
.
Lovely and sad. I dislike those moments, because I am always waiting for someone, perhaps myself, to cry stay. Stay and be.
LikeLiked by 1 person
❤
LikeLiked by 1 person