Poesía Verde

amarillo

you're perched as usual

cross-legged, high enough that the bad can't reach you,

sunshine boy in dirty yellow converse

a run-on sentence with no end in sight.

so much for you is so frighteningly precious, i'm afraid i'll drop some pieces while we're running through the rain, feet pounding and pain blood-sharp.

there's no time to waste. you're already gone

{This poem in it's entirety was written by my talented friend Mads. Ily.}