the beginning
I hold myself in the dark
That’s
the whole
poem
You want a mirror, a god
of the anti
rare
Father, mother, a cry
( baby
shaped
things
I hold myself in the dark
That’s
the whole
poem
You want a mirror, a god
of the anti
rare
Father, mother, a cry
( baby
shaped
things
Have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.

Leave a comment