XXXIV.
in the middle of almost a storm,
i break out into almost a run,
knowing i cannot face him with a star as dim as mine.
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...
XXXIV.
XXXIV.
in the middle of almost a storm,
i break out into almost a run,
knowing i cannot face him with a star as dim as mine.
A
