Morning’s solemn moon sliver of your former selflow lidded and crude
I miss the mornings, when there’s no one around. When I would buckle my belt as a state trooper would his holster and start my day sharp as an arrow, aimed at the center. But there is no one to… Read More ›
it’s hard to fathom all the words in the English language that must end with the letter m, or why anyone would think to put that in a poem. Thanks everyone for playing along on my 30-day posting streak!