.
Light.
soft sun melting
upon eyelids,
stretched yawns,
grass-tickled soles.
And time calls us queens.
I think we'd rather
prefer fairies.
Mud smears and broken daisies,
even the freckled clouds smile.
spring sun silences tiptoeing on balconial smiles,
velvet wind kissed cheeks,
flower crowns.
spring is here.
spring is finally here.
YOU ARE READING
Prismatic Memories
Poetry"i. they tell me they cannot comprehend art. where art is, whispers reside. ii. i tell them that the only art i need are the words that bleed onto paper. iii. they tell me it doesn't work that way. there are compromises for art. sports. scie...
