Punctuated in,
a smile, blue hour horizon
still air, a, breath out
How does it work?
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More stories from Lorna and writers in Poets and other communities.
ushered into a wood chip lit room the smell of potato chips burning
By Lorna3 years ago in Poets
I’m tired of existing, of this body that lives without you. I'm tired of a pulse being the only signifier that I'm alive.
By Daniel K4 days ago in Poets
Living in a sauna is hideous Zest, zip and zing belong to yesterday Energy sap is so insidious. * Breathing hot, humid air is torturous
By Angie the Archivist 📚🪶3 days ago in Poets
It was the worst of times. Georgia had forever fought being one of those who viewed the glass half empty, but there was a hole in the bucket.
By Katherine D. Graham5 days ago in Fiction
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