Monday, June 22, 2015

A heart from scratch

A language
made of
lost words.

You. I. Quiet.
While you were away,
I walked my little world

from pole to pole by myself,
hid my heart
where no one else

could find it,
my only weakness,

(from my Poesia Torta)

1 comment:

  1. of distance, none pen quite like you ~