The barn, your hands
A poem for the Dialogue Poetry contest
By Marsha SinghPublished 2 years ago • 1 min read
Photo by Rusty Watson on Unsplash
An old barn shrill with crickets' trill
(we snuck away to meet like spies)
tomatoes on the windowsill
(the car was hot against my thighs)
clover growing through the floor
(there was little time to spare)
summer here had grown indoors
(your hands were strong, and everywhere).
About the Creator
Keep reading
More stories from Marsha Singh and writers in Poets and other communities.
Comments (2)
Outstanding.
Nice work!