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le souris MAG
March 28, 2019
I knit myself into the fabric of you,
twisting and turning and hoping
that your immune system accepts the invasion.
I am made of glass, and you of cinders.
The wind picks me up and I become it
I am the cloud of breath from your lips and I am the floaters in your eyes
I exist only in the pink-edged daisies, wet from the weight of the morning.
Take my hand and I will show you
that you too were born from stars.
© Hannah S., Axtell, TX
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