Unfinished knots
severed trees that
wither upon
the slightest
touch of your
battle-weary hands
your fingers
lost its track
on my body
I sniffed your
footsteps
to the road
whence it began
but it's just all
desolation
and isolation
is my desperate
solution
YOU ARE READING
Albeit flawed,
ПоэзияI 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?
