(no subject)
self-directed poetry
Three lines in a spiral-bound notebook point to the same conclusions criss-crossing my personal stratosphere. I place them in my mouth until the words, sour at the back of my throat, begin to dissolve. When I swallow, it's the sweetest poison; and syllables fall from my lips, unbidden, ripe.
Three lines in a spiral-bound notebook point to the same conclusions criss-crossing my personal stratosphere. I place them in my mouth until the words, sour at the back of my throat, begin to dissolve. When I swallow, it's the sweetest poison; and syllables fall from my lips, unbidden, ripe.