XXVIII.
i snuck out,
but i didn't leave the cul-de-sac.
instead i sat on our steps,
listening to the trees talk about
long nights without a moon,
rivers with no reflections
and songs with no melodies.
A
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fifteen (XV)
Poetryi prick my finger on a rose in my garden. my blood is not red. i take the wind caressing my face as a silent apology. cover art made by doradorapuff on tumblr. [2015] thank you to everyone who shared with me these short poems as they were published...
