the urge to drown every morsel
rushes down the fingertips
even in breath a story
alabaster shining in whirlpools of black death
looking so past, they aren’t even my eyes
a dove’s call to break the silence
and again rot in fortitude
the urge to drown every morsel
rushes down the fingertips
even in breath a story
alabaster shining in whirlpools of black death
looking so past, they aren’t even my eyes
a dove’s call to break the silence
and again rot in fortitude