dear oliver,
i tangled my fingers
into your hair, curling
it around as i smiled
at you. our lips touched
as the clock struck
midnight, only
to have the locks
fall down like tear
drops of the moon.
onto my palm.
don’t go.
quinn
YOU ARE READING
zero
PoetryQuinn scribbles tainted emotions across thin layers of white paper. But to who? To someone who blinks once, sees her, and blinks again-just to make her disappear. To someone who sees her as a symbol of the ocean. To someone who thinks the ocean is...
