Farewell John
He hung his scythe above me.
No one is gonna die tonight.
I sit on a rooftop,
in a circle of feathers.
Are they yours, John?
We haven't spoken in a while
but I guess you've been
watching me after all.
From another roof.
Of another dust.
Remember the nights
I'd wrap myself into them
in search of tiniest hint of warmth?
Tonight I pin them into my hair.
Naked, in this beautiful,
whisky-smelling warbonnet
I'll horseback ride across the sky.
Skeleton stallion and I,
galloping to the stars.
You know, He lit my blood.
And no one is gonna die tonight.
Copyright © Danka Sikorska | Year Posted 2020
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