autumn hands

your cold hands will become a home
to my dead murdering bones
these apparitions i would hold so close.

these patchwork lungs unfurl away
in distant corners, in tapestries
of golden oceans that would swallow us

and there's no need
or place for this.
heart chambers and hands hold it close
and i won't let it fall from me
your skin made of glass and wounded seas
held so close at your throat.

the fields are grey, as grey as the bones
of your autumn hands, burning out and burning fast.
our stories they unfold like paper maps.

and you are framed in fever dreams left too far
to ever reach. our spirits in the starry banks
left us here without a sound.