Cloak the south with gold.
Bring the world to wait for you,
Tracing fingers along you.
Flood the spring with yourself.
Be the day drying my eyes
When my tears spill for the moon.
YOU ARE READING
SUNSHOWERS
Non-FictionA book of poetry. A book of tears. A book of blood and sweat, too. A book to hold me. Will you let it hold me?
The Sun, Through a Patch of Leaves
Cloak the south with gold.
Bring the world to wait for you,
Tracing fingers along you.
Flood the spring with yourself.
Be the day drying my eyes
When my tears spill for the moon.
