Curled petals in sync
I gave you a piece of blue
It sprouts from your hands
How does it work?
More stories from K L and writers in Poets and other communities.
Mountains use mirrors They push back soil like hair strands Rocks are their sole comb
By K L3 years ago in Poets
Of course we're locked Into our sufferings, Said Cohen / Yet I've loved you of A love with no name And couldn't be
By M.about 23 hours ago in Poets
Familiar hum Flash of green emerald blue Vanished miracle . .
By PK Colleran6 days ago in Poets
If we are not in tune with our bodies, if trauma or dissociation distorts our natural rhythms, we are unable to feel a sense of agency over our lives.
By Kera Hollow5 days ago in Psyche
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