An old birdcage
A dark room
An auburn chain
A wilted rose
A crumpled letter
A futile expedition
A monochromatic rainbow
An unfinished chorus
A frozen secret
A lone adventurer
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?
