Please
spare me
an ounce
of your
grace
Yes,
I am your
prisoner
but at least
let me touch
your
tired-from-work face
and stare
at your
sympathizing
eyes
for I know
out there
without you
is a much
bigger
prison
YOU ARE READING
Albeit flawed,
PoetryI 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?
