To my dad's spectre
it was just mostly white
but to me it was a
convulsion of colors
since you were the one
to pull the pin, and your
name when uttered
is a whole ass more prismatic
that Bifrost bridge is ashamed
YOU ARE READING
Albeit flawed,
PoesíaI 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?
