How you saw me,
even in the dark,
your bed or mine,
your scent, your touch,
your voice so near—
that was the real poem,
not these words—
dirt on paper,
dark marks on
a bright screen.
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It's haiku time again in creative writing class
Coffee is bitter fuel that brings a sweetness, lifting my spirits. Empty hanging file folders, holding only the hope of less clut...
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You’re a valiant pine growing from a cleft in a rock. You are an old piano by the beach, sending your notes flying, singing with the gulls a...
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Serial monogamy sounds like a crime. A felony, at least. Big shout out to all you lurkers.
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