yet

a thread fraying
when you’re a rope made from gold
the yellowest kind from mountains old
terrains I haven’t even seen yet
picture the scenery
a sanctuary built with relief
it’s you
it’s where I’m drawn to
it’s home
you’re home
I’ve never even known home
always a stone’s throw
stolen throne
rocks and
a white sand beach
I think I have it twisted
all this sinister kitsch
I’m not even in
any mysterious shit
you’re mischief
am I even missed yet
am I a skip in your beat
a butterfly in your chest yet
my fingertips
are they printing a heavy caress yet
call
collect
similar stranger in your midst yet
hush in a wish yet
whisper in a hiss yet
ribbons and strings green
onions and flushed cheeks
it’s just a kiss
he
won’t let me be his yet,
because he doesn’t even know it yet

ink is free, so...

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