XLVI.
i awaken to the snapping sound of my arm being re-adjusted by the doctor.
i fail to tell him what day it is,
& with bright blue adhesive glue
i am once again connected to the sky that lately has eluded me.
A
YOU ARE READING
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...
