I sleep in the corners of her room. In the night, I look upon her soft, sleeping face. This is when I habitually survive another passing day.
By Delphina Wheeler5 years ago in Poets
The days give themselves to us like babies’ eyes, Wide-open and ready for nothing They give themselves but we don’t notice, we are occupied
Living in envy is lonely Lonelier than nights of nothing Days and months of nothing new, Particular Envy envokes a welcoming greeting,
