thorns poke through
my palms. all belongs
to gravity but not yet my rose,
resting on my undaunted fist.
it will wither unceremoniously and
i will have only holes in my hands.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 3:13 PM UTC
thorns poke through
my palms. all belongs
to gravity but not yet my rose,
resting on my undaunted fist.
it will wither unceremoniously and
i will have only holes in my hands.
Request permission to use this poem