Sometimes the best treats
are the ones left to age—
like cheese
albeit the holes we steadily
bore to invite more air in,
the aftertaste would still
default the competition
it's at the end of the day
how your inside matters—
how you taste when it's
left the mouth
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?
