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  • Love
    • ,
  • Nature

    untitled

     i roll my bulk against your hide;
    my secrets threaten to burst free.
    who am i to hold them back?
    the wind coming through the window
    is leaden with the scent of
    honeysuckle.
    shielding my face as the sun boils
    from behind a cloud,
    your warmth is equal. 

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    If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.

    Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) American poet.

    jonathonca’s Poems (8)

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