So who are you?
Are you the sour of the blood from my thumb when I jabbed it with the pointed end of my umbrella, or are you the rain which flooded College Street and spoiled my notebook? Are you the smell of the other people’s bodies? Are you the kind lady on the bus who smelt of cinnamon and was happy that the bus wasn’t too crowded? Are you the last book I fell in love with? Or are you my favourite shoe, the one who’s sole came off?
Are you the rain?
YOU ARE READING
Arcadia
PoetrySpilled thoughts, letters from no one, stories of another time, another place. - || H.R. : #50 in Poetry ||
