Poetry

maybe if i

maybe if i lived in a
city where leaves never
expire and the waters
tremble and sigh, maybe
i would always find solstice
knowing that every day will
be the same. paradise should
sound appealing but isn’t strife
what births my creative might?
would i be able to write
so hauntingly, so real,
so open that you blush
and squirm as you read on? 🌿

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