Alt-Lit eludes me you see, I can only find the Meta-physical key
Poetry Drafts
Finger painting your back
I feel your scars; some are
healed but others still
bleeding,
Why am I the artist, your
creator at large, when our
time together is coming
to an crossing,
You deserve the touch of
gods, keeping the thread
of life from withering,
My love for you will
never die; but our time
as one is
ending