A thirst. To be empty of companionship is to be an apparition, connection lost in translation a ghost, of salt and smoke in a landscape of dreams a memory of moisture, now a mirage. My ribs are a dry well,the bucket slashes against stone. Vianne Armour
A thirst.
To be empty of companionship is to be an apparition,
connection lost in translation
a ghost, of salt and smoke
in a landscape of dreams
a memory of moisture,
now a mirage.
My ribs are a dry well,
the bucket slashes against stone.
Vianne Armour