you read the fires wrong and above you the moon grinds its teeth
Tag: freedom
you taste the color of exiled minds and consciousness turns grey
ghosts of summer knock politely and slip through the door crack
the untamed sky unbuttons over a wildflower field
like a fable your wear summer’s fog
the tree offers flowers maybe fruit but never answers to your woes
among other things in the ribcage you carry a sentient fire
summer rumour: the full moon is nowhere to be found
a dying sun comes back to life on the tip of your tongue
summer night the fog wills strange things into existence