An artist, graphic designer, creative human, and secret Margaret.
she slumps– silently sober salt streams sting, sliding south sandpaper sighs. suffocating staccato. society’s sommelier, sipping shame
By Grace Downeyabout a year ago in Poets
One day, Past walked into a speakeasy, and demanded who made Grammar uneasy. Present replied, “I am right now.” Future said, “I will somehow!”
Race it and you’ll lose. Bide, buy, crunch, ride, or save it. Kill but don’t waste it.
if I could save time in a jar or box — I would likely waste that too.
Hi — long time, no see. [apology] I was busy. We can catch up later.
Not once has a hand reached below to help me climb but one rung higher. I don’t want the top just a nicer view a wider step
riding your shoulders glassy-eyed, I spot the end; soft wind nuzzles close
it ebbs and builds now soft sighs of earth surround me a delicious bath
forced to watch her shine eons pass as he stretches only her tears touch
It's the sizzling, spitting bacon on the pan, the aroma wafting up the stairs, tickling my nose before my eyes have dared to open.
By Grace Downey2 years ago in Poets
Never have I ever felt true cold as I played god amongst the stars, who giggled at my stupidity, bored enough to play along.
My island rests beyond your seas with satin plains and powdered hills. Soft light spills upon the earth peaking out from heavy drapes
