Mackinac-Crafts

You have too much time on your hands, Love, folding paper cranes with broken fingers, wishing to see northern lights in the eyes of strangers. There are no lions between your bed sheets who understand your hunger better than I- You are licking my wounds; one with the wild. I swear it's you behind these eyelids- untamed and desired by this lonely poetic canvas stained with blood, ink, and words I can't fucking say. You look like a Goddess standing there reading my skin quiet and shameless, proud of the gaping hole in my chest. I know it then, like I know my own counterclockwise heart; I should never trust my own kind. "I'll build