Apr 2021
.
he lays
perfectly still,
with his back,
one with the ground.
his hand,
tracking the cadence
in his chest,
as he
milks poetry
out of the moon.
.
he lays
perfectly still,
with his back,
one with the ground.
his hand,
tracking the cadence
in his chest,
as he
milks poetry
out of the moon.
.
