Apr 2019
This city reveals itself as sunset-less.
I never thought I'd miss
the way death is soft
in the fist. The night
is loud, the windows shutter
in their frames.
I can't stop picturing her face.
I never thought I'd miss
the way death is soft
in the fist. The night
is loud, the windows shutter
in their frames.
I can't stop picturing her face.
