Feathers And Brine By aldo kraas, www.PoetryPoem.com/poet11586 Unlock all Features - Upgrade to Poetry Prime
If I was nothing but a wistful raven
I'd still nestle by your windowsill
and listen to the husk of your breath
in the chill
of the morn.
If I were but a feathered wilderness,
I'd still cry you awake
as the sun trickled across the sky,
shake you conscious with a tap
tap
tap
on frosted glass
so you see the night birth
fresh virgin day.
Darling, if I were nothing
but a crooked-winged crow
I'd still fly across oceans
to soothe every sleepless sigh
from your asking lips.
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