ravishing in sunlight.
in my breakaway,
in climbing vines
roots embedded in the crevices
of old worn stone
notice how they cling as they grow?
and suddenly i am just an infant
mounted on my mother's breast,
my fist around her pointer finger.
my bleeding heart only less
fragrant than the ones in my
grandmother's garden.
in my breakaway,
in climbing vines
roots embedded in the crevices
of old worn stone
notice how they cling as they grow?
and suddenly i am just an infant
mounted on my mother's breast,
my fist around her pointer finger.
my bleeding heart only less
fragrant than the ones in my
grandmother's garden.
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