"untitled"

sleepyeyes:

There are things I’ll never be able to tell you,
Or have you understand.
But they come out late at night,
Like ghosts upon my skin.
I wonder if you touched me would your fingers read,
The braille of my history,
Taste the salty sting of my tears.
Your hand skims over,
Hovers with hesitation,
Moves on.
“We” the you and I,
Are lost in translation.

sleepy.eyes.sept.2011 

via sleepyeyes