that couldn’t quit blooming
the orchestrated ambiance
of closing remarks
in the dark hours of the year
I was your right arm
held in socket by spaghetti
broken in the anguish
of a season you didn’t have to feel
ever again
it was just
over
it was always becoming
over.
the orchestrated ambiance
of closing remarks
in the dark hours of the year
I was your right arm
held in socket by spaghetti
broken in the anguish
of a season you didn’t have to feel
ever again
it was just
over
it was always becoming
over.
✱✱✱
| Rosalie Wilmot is a Seattle born poet, educator and yogini who resides primarily in Chiang Mai, Thailand. She has a chapbook, "Portal" out by Bottlecap Press and self published a microchapbook "We grew weeds". Her work has appeared in Fuck Art, Let's Dance, Moloko House, Zoomoozophone Review among others. She blogs at Curious Escapades. |
