Winter bit my toes
Ankle sighs into warm plush
Slippers cradle me.
How does it work?
More stories from Test and writers in Poets and other communities.
To feel at ease, practise being alone. Keep rooms spare and mornings free of noise. Let trust arrive softly, awkward and grown.
By Test2 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 Abela4 days ago in Poets
An agent confused; An unwitting hacker finds The raw Epstein Files.
By Bryan Pike5 days ago in Poets
The short form of tomorrow is never the whole story. Abbreviations mean nothing when we are born to die and we all are aren't we? Being spoken for before birth is something we're not supposed to remember like some kind of karma after effect. Still here we are spending our lives looking for each other.
By Canuck Scriber Lisa Lachapelleabout 16 hours ago in Fiction
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