For Molly at twelve

Between us Sparks edge into The laughter And you and I Grope along The narrow Changing light Separate Yet your sleeping grace Assails me Like the flower scent Of dusk And in your frail And awkward stage You hear the hinted Sound of flutes In dreams That I Your m other Cannot follow.

We want to hear, did we miss an angle we should have covered? Should we come back to this topic? Or just give us a rating for this story. We want to hear from you.

Loading...

Loading...