A canvas for the sheath of your paint

The tool of inexplicability

Leave a Comment


Don’t you just love. When they try to pry your petals open. And fashion you into a flower. And colour you just like them. Their false chipper fingers. All up in your roots. Checking for pulse. And poking your glutes. Tussling your hair. While talking from nowhere. The mountain lilies. Who think the valleys are silly. The outgoings. SautΓ©ing the incomings. The very reasons. The rose thorns. So they come with their scissors. Upset about winter. Demanding a glint. Of what light won’t deliver