The ache of taking a
call, when my
book was burning.
I scramble to warn
the bees, not to
come near the sundew.
Words hide the
sticky floor. Walk prudently
to swap the hunger strike
for bread and wine,
as the fingerprints untangle
the mystery of desires.
Nov 15, 2016
Nov 15, 2016 at 10:17 PM UTC
The ache of taking a
call, when my
book was burning.
I scramble to warn
the bees, not to
come near the sundew.
Words hide the
sticky floor. Walk prudently
to swap the hunger strike
for bread and wine,
as the fingerprints untangle
the mystery of desires.