it's one of those weird moments right now
those 1 a.m.'s and 3 a.m.'s
where words and poetry flows
in a poet's veins
when they pick their pens up
and jot down beautiful words
that flow out like tears
after a heartbreak
for them the time stops and
their only solace in the smooth white pages, the blue ink
and their thoughts
and they pour them out
as if hanging beads to a string
pearl white and ruby red and sapphire blue
only space for art and design and
dedication
YOU ARE READING
the flavour of air
Poetryi fell into the beauty of the most dangerous weapons; words
