It’s such a tiny revolution,
built on nervous candles in a breezy room,
with riots
hammering at the door
and the kindest thing you ever did
clinging desperately to the flame.
It’s nothing that’ll turn the tide,
nothing that’ll stick.
Most of my friends
have forgotten I even tried.
But I love that you saw,
I love that you smiled
and I love that you cried –
matching me,
tear for tear,
without dousing any of the candles.
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2 replies on “Small wax riots”
[…] Small wax riots […]
Really dig this one.