Reid@YWP

If I love you were the last words that would roll upon my lips, 

Would they find themselves an altar, 

As you kissed my fingertips? 

A childhood saturated in darkness 

Like roots of a lotus – submerged in the torment

Of the Baltimore mud, where Eleanora's likeness

Grew alone at nine, in juvenile court. 

It's the beginning of the day

breathe out heavier

walking into school

trying to make a white cloud in the air.

It's the middle of the day

stick my fingers into my pockets

I locked eyes with him, the glowing man on the stage. 

He glimmered, his red hair shining under the spotlight. 

That was all it took for my heart to be stolen away.