Breathing Webs

We are but a spot of dusk
Seeping in through the seedless nights
Reaping what has not quite been sewn

But we still crawl along the lines of desperation and solitude
Close to closure, far from composure

We hold what we’ve done above our own heads
Bending the once-were halos
Conforming our minds into molds

But there’s ways to work with a skull with dents and cobwebs so embedded that  only the breath of a lover’s embrace can wipe off

Writings From The Cafe

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