Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jun 2018
Find a crease in the paper.
Fold it back.
Keep it like that.
These are blue, this is blue, blue.
and here we are.
I see you searching,
and we keep clenching.
Fabric under my fingers and I wonder,
where is the string to this end?
And when do I get tied to the end.
Written by
Danielle  32/F/Rockford, IL
(32/F/Rockford, IL)   
197
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems