Meet me at the guesthouse.
Meet me in the hostel lounge.
Meet me at the campsite toilets.
Meet me in the quiet town.

Bring the fire.

Bring the fire.

Bring the fire.

Bring the fire. Bring a few.

Meet me if you’re willing.
Meet me when you do.
Let’s meet before they read your name out,
abduct you from this view.

Our souls aren’t made for mating now;
I think I’ll wait another few.
It’s bones I want to meet me here;
your hair and flesh and breathing, too.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s