Tonight, we fly—
naked and aspiring,
a dent of light
striking through
the ocean of darkness
full of hope and curiosity
we held hands;
I shut my eyes—
as I savor the soft
gushing of the winds
against my hope-stricken face
I am alive,
home is far—
tonight, we fly
YOU ARE READING
Albeit flawed,
ŞiirI 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?
