the bloom
We were what the winters envied-
never-ending summer
of scorching heat,
bursting with life.
Not one winter,
not one drought,
we have tasted.
We were always in bloom.
YOU ARE READING
eighteen.
Poezjaa collection of poetry "So why do I write about you when you've already read everything? Maybe because writing is the only way I can tell you I love you without stuttering. "
