Aug 2017
He was a blank book.
With my ink of sonnets,
I gave him a story,
syllables full of stars.
I made him
readable, interesting, intriguing.
But, the last thing that ever crossed my mind,
was that sitting there,
on that shelf, I also made him
reachable.
*Sandoval
With my ink of sonnets,
I gave him a story,
syllables full of stars.
I made him
readable, interesting, intriguing.
But, the last thing that ever crossed my mind,
was that sitting there,
on that shelf, I also made him
reachable.
*Sandoval
