A place where Poetry and Tech talk
17 Feb 2011 Leave a Comment
When the mist claims
a bloodshed for her
I’ll do flee from
the dreamt garden.
We’re all swearwords
upon salty lips
we’re all relieved
from the enchanted mess.
Previous Winter butterflies Next Ground/zero
Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:
You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out / Change )
Connecting to %s
Notify me of follow-up comments via email.
Blog at WordPress.com. • Theme: Koi by N.Design.
Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.
Join 495 other followers