I collect your last breath

in poetry; spin stale
air into letters into
words into stanzas;
weave that last hair
on your coat, no longer
worn, into a sentence;
and your finger prints, still
imprinted on that last glass,
I press into a full and
sudden
stop.


I collect your last breath
written on a train home from London, Elou Carroll 2014

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