I weaved music notes into my confession,
sang "Darling, I'll be here whenever
you want to come home"
only to find out that a few miles later,
you made a bed out of the pavements,
a mattress on a road
with someone who will not pick up his
guitar and play for you
but whose breath is a lullaby all on its own.
YOU ARE READING
Fools
PoetryWords by Fransivan MacKenzie Illustrations by Cali Isobel "FOOLS" is a small collection of poetry accompanied by illustrations that reek of love in its rawest nature, therefore defying all kinds of logic. All sixteen poems (excluding the tiny ones o...
