Post by embowman on May 25, 2014 18:51:14 GMT 8
the cool ocean breeze kisses his black stone,
on a bed of historic grounds and broken bone,
a distant memory handwritten into my tissue,
when i said i would not cry, but dance.
threading dislocated stories on a strand,
that spirals tiny paper cranes in my hands,
folding knees and head held low,
falling over and over, here she goes.
on a bed of historic grounds and broken bone,
a distant memory handwritten into my tissue,
when i said i would not cry, but dance.
threading dislocated stories on a strand,
that spirals tiny paper cranes in my hands,
folding knees and head held low,
falling over and over, here she goes.
