Quiet, you know, in tidy couplets. Contrasts, penance of the crass. A minute-long saunter In the eyes. In the language you dream in, it lives- as well as the shores where it breaks too. You pick the shells, is what you do. On a nice day, shards are shiny and pretty, On a just day, it cuts you.
05/26/2021
Posted on 05/26/2021Copyright © 2024 Johanna May