Coco

I wrote a poem about you.

One you probably won’t read.

Because I don’t have the courage

And it defeats its purpose anyway

Under the green jungle crown 

you silently go, 

Shimmers of light pattering 

down onto your soft, worn skin. 

She used to listen to the snow and think about how beautiful the world was, how magical.

How perfect, pristine, like a flower curled in a tiny fist.