there is a bird at my windowsill
pecking at the glass
and now i am wondering
how you tap on the steel
that i call my heart
-
there has never been another
who i wished to swap souls with
- as if the very essence of my being
was as notional as a secret
but here we are
whispering to each other
with only the moon as witness
- i have never been so candid
about my open wounds before
- anon