If dreams are made of plasters of past and future
Or a world ceasing from existence because of your departure
It is best for me not to experience any of these
If there's no you on either's end I could seize
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?
