170 6 5
|
Should I tell Ellyn mom used to hate sunflowers?
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59854
|
A poem not about fog written in fog with an erasable pen.
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50532
|
My pain is a black pearl hidden in a clean shell.
|
36911
|
The coals lose their glow.Sun kisses the back of my neck goodbye.Someone plays Boys of Summer one more time.The cooler tips... The tides go out...
|
34233
|
They wear their bodies recklessly, these cempazuchitl, these flowers of the dead.
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