The Puddle of Rainy Denim and Cotton Over 21st Street

[myrueme]

Water the grass and pull the threads through the trees, where she left and leaves and kept and keeps the wind close to her chest, deep like a sneaker, ribcage full of hearts and beats until she can not see any further than the pulse over her eyelids that flutters in seagull screams, dreaming her skin in canvases of unfinished and neverminds,

Comments

[myrueme]

Thanks. Sometimes a good ol' puddle is what clothes need.