Maybe love is in a rainbow
in the shins of bumble bees the corner of a snowstorm where an iris buries deep I'm a crushed lung in mourning at night I breathe through my teeth I'm stuttered by the feeling of her ribs rising beneath me Maybe love is the snowstorm the sting of worker bees in the oily rainbow of a puddle a spring where flowers sleep
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KatA young adult. Archives
April 2020
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