deepundergroundpoetry.com

Ridges

I write in monstera filled rooms,
in alien light and Spring-Summers,
write like your ship doesn't float  
in a chamber of aqueous humor
when the sun has left this city.  
I recall home. †
In road maps can see channels flooding
with reasons not to leave, †  
safe binds to a place †
more sense than air †
but you are there †
in the inbetween, †  
security beacon blazing,  
keeping one finger
on our memories to pass  
the aging days.
ImperfectedStone
Written by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
Published | Edited 27th May 2021
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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