Not to forget the last visible crescent of an eclipse,
Rushing light, illuminating ends of gardens of tulips,
No other color, only pink and tinted with the evening's blush,
Tremors beneath the ground felt, air buzzed an intellectual gush.
YOU ARE READING
Tell Me I'm Not Crazy
PoetryTo the one who made me tingle my skin with such excitement, who made me feel like a rocket in the sky trying to reach it to my limits, who made me experience summer in winter, who made my mind wander the night sky and find its way back to you. To th...
