I bury my tree corpse
under a diner of worms
decaying the synthetic bones
until it is a risorgimento
of your hall of mirrors
—Sig.Fd
BINABASA MO ANG
Pareidolia
PoesíaMy wild flower I know you have thousands of thorns, but still I see your face in every petal and I love to plant you between the blank pages of my book. I'll keep you forever even you're not fragrant anymore.
