Dark shrouds eyes, moon climbs.
Dimmer every night. Shadows
congeal to give chase.
How does it work?
This one feels like a quiet little chill creeping in, so atmospheric!
More stories from Jada Ferguson and writers in Poets and other communities.
Summoned to the blues Suckling at dexterity Tasting other worlds
By Jada Ferguson5 months ago in Poets
Something sits at the end of my tongue. A memory that is unable to form into words. A distant train bellows with the same frustration that pollutes the whites of my eyes.
By Amanda Abela7 days ago in Poets
He speaks through his groin in the pale morning for the sake of leaving sparkling sperm on his man’s feet in the spartan room made for gods and
By Paul Aaron Domenick3 days ago in Poets
It's Mothers' Day (Mother's Day? Mothering Sunday?) tomorrow here in Britain. I am going out for lunch and may have to dress up. I am looking forward to it. There is an expectation of gifts too. Who doesn't like a gift?
By Rachel Deeming6 days ago in Viva
Comments (1)
This one feels like a quiet little chill creeping in, so atmospheric!