Warmth radiating from the windows
From the rice
Steam rolling into the air in curls
It brushes the air like paint
Slow motion through walls of life
One wall shows faces, scared and joyful
The next wall shows cars and buses and tables and plates
And then the next is filled with all the colors of the world
And the next, dark paints and cement things reaching towards the ceiling
Our footsteps echo so we leave
We run through streets of ice
We turn our eyes towards everything around us
And our breath, rolling into the air in curls
Brushes the air like paint
YOU ARE READING
Bloom.
PoetryA collection of poems and prose from a range of topics. Enjoy! COVER BY: @soundthealarm graphics! Go check them out!
