Is is I who died of dust and sorrow having wiped the dirt from your cheeks all steam and unconsciousness I loved you. It is I who wrote the letter
By Nelson G Nelson5 years ago in Poets
My coming of age was pink nectar embroidered on my collar burned into my thigh. I sang rolling r’s slipping tongue
Our hundred year tree is dying but one of those - a lie bugs, unknown, umber, tiny weaving residue they deal in waxing parasitic.
