Friendship
The Gardener of Whims
The Gardener of Whims The air smelled of candied thorns, sharp and sweet, as I woke on the first day in a meadow stitched with dandelion lace. My hands were dusted with pollen, golden flecks clinging to my skin like secrets I hadn’t yet told myself. Above, the sky churned, a vanilla breakfast swirl, folding and unfolding in slow, syrupy waves. I was no stranger to dreams, but this one felt heavier, like it had roots sinking into my bones.
By Shohel Rana9 months ago in Poets
