by conor thew
at the end of all things
the crumbling earth
the ache in our bones
the weariness of gods taking in the
scars and the scorch of their greatest mistake
i will take your hand.
smooth my thumb over the callouses
liver-spotted, amber nails cracked from worried teeth
i will kiss the night away
soothe your rattled bones
soak myself in your warm gaze once more
“we have this, my love.
i am yours til death, and then some.”
conor (he/him) is a twenty-one year old trans poet and screenwriter from the uk. while he can usually be found at his desk playing skyrim, he wants it to be known that his love for gothic literature and poetry makes him at least 1/10th of a vampire.