poetry / Poetry / Uncategorized / Writing

Day 108 of 35


Buried, she lost sight of the surface and forgot
the horizon. After a time, she stopped
standing in the narrow tunnels, hoping
for a cusp of light. She took her lovers
without the promise of morning. Dark
and full of fleeting want, she plucked them
only for memory and let them fade,
and when she ate the fruit, she knew
her mother’s heart would break.

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