Poetry from Brianna Dawn.

cold; something —

you couldn’t ask me why i turned  my nose up to the moon,
to watch the stars twist past as something, a dull sound
begins to crawl, it grows slowly out of my mouth, a bloom
of words, i’ll pick the petals off one by one, blowing out
a deep breath, snuffing out the melody i send your way
with a plume of smoke, it slows, settling in the snow
collecting my heartbeats on the tips of numb fingers
clutching in my palm, friction, warming up,
my soul now tiny suns, undoing the wrinkles in my palm
lifeline, touching the night, giving rise
to something like a tiny hope resting
somewhere in someone’s eyes

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