I hear it all the time. Bequeathed with a lone adage, it appears out of nowhere, melting the arched eyebrows of penance. Into the melting frost from leaves that let go of a part of themselves in the process, digs the arteries of balance. There…
24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
I hear it all the time. Bequeathed with a lone adage, it appears out of nowhere, melting the arched eyebrows of penance. Into the melting frost from leaves that let go of a part of themselves in the process, digs the arteries of balance. There…