By Alexandra Smereka
When words fall like leaves from your lips I know the air is about to grow colder, the shadows longer, our days together shorter. When your eyes grow dark, the sky is like black ice, a slippery sort of color dangerous at the wrong time of night, but also beautiful in the way the sky always is. You belong in a different sort of here,
one where the leaves never die,
and light, which is only a reflection,
will never leave you.
Alexandra Smereka is studying English and Music at Wayne State University and has been thrice published in the Wayne Literary Review.
Comentários