Photo by Jessica Felicio on Unsplash
sleeping to dream
Icarus ashes fluff my pillow
taste of sun shards on my lips
insomnia suckles dry tit after another
in search of someplace where they forget me
Black girl tangled in cotton sheets
they are shadow dancing on the wall
and the moment of their pirouette,
ankle bracelets clink
the moon finally eats my name
About the Creator
R.C. Taylor
I write to invoke, to process, to honor, to resurrect, and—sometimes—to grieve but, above all, I write to be free.
Follow along for stories about a little bit of everything (i.e. nostalgia and other affairs of the heart).
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