I would write my poems in dead languages to bring them back to life for a spell. The one thing that won't fade or age is this love I have, though I can't tell you yet, hesitating at this crossroads, hoping you'll pick up enough clues to decipher me and crack my code. I'm afraid simple words could be misconstrued so I'll hide behind the ones I borrowed to say I think I might be meant for you.
I wrote this in February in response to the prompt “dead languages,” part of the Spooky February prompt list I created. (I realized after it was too late that I should have called it Scary February to take advantage of the rhyme. It was all just for fun, though.)
Michelle Wicklow 