416.
You’re sprouting again
In my blind mind’s blue iris,
In vegetable bowls.
417.
You compared me to
Rhubarb, blood-red ripe and bold,
As old as stories.
416.
You’re sprouting again
In my blind mind’s blue iris,
In vegetable bowls.
417.
You compared me to
Rhubarb, blood-red ripe and bold,
As old as stories.
