Title:
We peeked through the keyhole, the spy hole, the transparent window,a light breeze coming from the attic downstairs, in the bedroomclosed eyes behind an auburn hair curtain, caressing her fingers,reflections of mattress stories on the black mirror,thousand little deaths transformed.
We peeked through the keyhole, the spy hole, the transparent window,
a light breeze coming from the attic downstairs, in the bedroom
closed eyes behind an auburn hair curtain, caressing her fingers,
reflections of mattress stories on the black mirror,
thousand little deaths transformed.
Author:
Bio:
What is the sum of 10 and 8:
It's your turn! Move into the poem. Renovate it. Knock down its walls. Put your spin on it. Make it your own.