If home is where
the heart is,
I'm mostly homeless then
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?
eighty
If home is where
the heart is,
I'm mostly homeless then
