A Not-Love Poem[What the stars tossed, salt-casual, onto the not-black of the not-night suggest could be love, but I can't read them.]A Not-Love Poem
This is not a love poem, not-love, a not-love poem.
Falling waist deep into February stomping the signatures of lost years in footprints on the pristine present- this, not-night has become electric with memories smashing through the thin ice of teenage alchemy, charged, with the possibility of heartache,
Tree Fairy
*excitement*
Bliss
--
Anna Tishe
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