Category: Poetry

cluttered

these things have collected me - endless books, unworn shoes, pots I split my self between them - fingers holding open pages, a close eye kept on the pot one day I'll evict them though maybe not quite all - save perhaps a favorite but … Continue reading cluttered

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I am in love with your golden-reds with the sting of restraint with pretending the sweet salt of your palm is mine © Sarah Whiteley