Bute Park

I like it here. Let's sit awhile. The grass, leaves, sky... Raindrops staining my pages, My book: Ariel And Plath. The eroded redness of my fingernails, Of my palms. The orange of my hair and Autumn. The black of my coat and mood: Too dark for photographs. The drops drench my ink, My poem. My … Continue reading Bute Park

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