Nonword
the watery tree in between my domestically pale fingers
pulls down the strings
deep silence of an acoustic guitar is melting
can't you resist looking at the haze
could you if you rise from curiousness
one and only wind knows
how to mindly splend doors
then close the same
slippers breath
but the maze
has been forgotten
by the polish fairytale my mother,
my non-word-honest mother
used to whisper
when boulevards were in shadows creep
however scares me no deep
Copyright © Tatjana Zivkovic | Year Posted 2022
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