where my feet touched
gossamer, sandalwood, and petrichor
gossamer, I let this body be home to everyone but me
sandalwood incense and petrichor knocking on doors and
drifting around the halls, my tongue tangled cherry stem sweet
moss growing where my wet feet touched the breathing floor
dancing footsteps slapping the mahogany, anklets clinking eternally
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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.
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