Ashes – a poem

I am not content
with crumbs from your table
with bones bereft of meat.
I want more than gristle,

ashes in my mouth.

Your arms cannot hold the heat
from a single candle.
How then can they hold me?
Your eyes look outward, yet
You do not see me anymore
.

I am not content
with crumbs from your table,
with cold hands and dying embers.
I want the touch of lips,
instead of ashes, on my skin.

Copyright © J.S. White

1 Comment

  1. Donna White says:

    Iove this, It says alot

    Like

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