I love you, without ever touching those lips.
Those chords that bloom lilies in your lungs,
how I haunt your mosaic dreams of cathedrals
where martyrs and saints dance on pipe organs,
playing harps into the most quiet, tormented minds.
A poetic stanza. ... well done
1 year ago
by Ben Pickard
This is a super piece of writing. As sad as the content is, the sheer poetry of stanza 3 is nothing short of beautiful.