Siren | Poetry

Breath, hard to breathe. Glazed eyes.

Legs sore from the memory of you.

Walking in a dream-like state.

Exhalation and secret hallelujahs.

I close my eyes, trust falls.

Walking in two worlds at once

down blurred hallways, sloppy, drunk off you.

You are a siren.

Emily Dickinson has nothing on you.