the answer of a body in the embrace of the summers' brilliance
when asked about the bitter touch of the winter
is mine when asked about your love
beneath the sun, frost no longer nips at my fingertips.
YOU ARE READING
baby blue
Poetryupon my death, may you sprinkle my ashes on your pillow, so you can feel me in your lungs and breathe for me as I once did for you. . a collection of poems.
