Poetry from Brianna Dawn.

dead hands still shaking me

occasionally,  you unexpectedly
tap at my door, reaching out
your arm through the clouds

over time, those clouds
grow heavy, turning to mist

you are nothing more than
smoke and fire carried in the wind

occasionally, unexpectedly tossing
and turning in my heart and mind

in time, that storm will settle
into the quiet, forming mist

but until that moment,
i continue to reach out into the clouds,
you remain as always, painfully missed


© Tiny Fawns, 2018

3 Responses to “dead hands still shaking me”

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