Dec 2024
And every night,
it crawls,
wounding wooden floors—
all without noise.
For it hungers,
wandering astray,
descending—
until it knows
where this heart is.
it crawls,
wounding wooden floors—
all without noise.
For it hungers,
wandering astray,
descending—
until it knows
where this heart is.
I hope my emotions are felt and understood with this poem.
