He is like the dust mite bitten, golden brown edged, aged leaf Of a book she has known all her life; the scent of which makes her believe there were days She could sink in the thrill of living, Embracing the known, untroubled by the unknown, and there is a future That will grow to…
There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.
One night I left the jar; the one with a miasma from mold growth, besides the wash basin for the next dawn to arrive when I would have definitely washed it. The dawn never arrived and I didn’t wash it. Someone did after four and half months. Maybe my mother on one of her visits…
I think we failed to tell us something Something that should have made space Betwixt the silences And yet unbound quietly; come and go Without imprints, without stabbing. But forced silences do not leave space They are louder than words, They stab until I am no more you and you me.
