hey, how are you doin'
in your little garden?
how can you not tell
how itchy my hands were
to paint your face,
your nose, your dazzling eyes?
the lullaby that the wind sings
send shivers at my back, and
since when did i start
calling you 'my'
like you were mine to begin?
YOU ARE READING
little garden
Poetry//poetry I pluck flowers like how I wrote letters that will never bloom inside your little garden, as you tend to neglect them.
