dear oliver,
the taste of your honey
lips still tickled mine when
i lifted the baseball cap off
of your head, your dark brown
locks twirled slightly above,
disappearing and gently slipping
past my fingers.
you curled a strand around
your forefinger and without
any force, it fluttered onto
your palm.
“see? i’m dying.”
i shook my head and
took the locks from your
palm and gave you a
small smile.
“you’re reborn.”
quinn
YOU ARE READING
zero
PoetryQuinn scribbles tainted emotions across thin layers of white paper. But to who? To someone who blinks once, sees her, and blinks again-just to make her disappear. To someone who sees her as a symbol of the ocean. To someone who thinks the ocean is...
