We meet
only in the humming of the wind in my ears
the smell of winter fog
and the contours of a face,
ever changing with my changing thoughts.
My poetry refuses words today.
a small paper for a small planet
We meet
only in the humming of the wind in my ears
the smell of winter fog
and the contours of a face,
ever changing with my changing thoughts.
My poetry refuses words today.
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.