Now tell me who
would resist your
got-off-from-work smell
and the all-too-familiar
bus fragrance
that came with it:
your scent
is not only a reminder
of your looming presence,
but of a screaming truth—
that it will soon wear off
but you would
still not
choose me
YOU ARE READING
Albeit flawed,
PoesíaI was basking under the sun-the waves muffle the sound of my breathing; and I bury myself with cautionary confidence in the sand and with it the memory of your four faces. How can something lethal be life-restorative?
