Sometimes evenings are like ice,
a slow rage borders before making supper
and the washing machine
like a photo call
will project tomorrows whiteness,
all in cycles
abiding with the times.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 5:53 PM UTC
Sometimes evenings are like ice,
a slow rage borders before making supper
and the washing machine
like a photo call
will project tomorrows whiteness,
all in cycles
abiding with the times.
Request permission to use this poem