crypt
tears squeezed hot like berries, our
skin is a crypt with breathing walls.
these face-rains come so delicately sour.
bells on a hillside, we are small sounds travelling.
tears squeezed hot like berries, our
skin is a crypt with breathing walls.
these face-rains come so delicately sour.
bells on a hillside, we are small sounds travelling.
Comments
My favorite post so far. This
My favorite post so far.
This makes me think of the drops of water that bead like mercury on leaves in the garden after rain. if you try to touch them, they are gone, rolling into one another to make themselves an unremarkable wetness.
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