No duration
of sleep
can nurse
the pain
that's been
pulsating
in my gut,
since staying
awake only
reminds me
that you
are just a
Sunday afternoon
sight to behold
and a convenience
store coffee
to relish for—
only the senses
benefit from it
YOU ARE READING
Albeit flawed,
PoezjaI 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?
