Jun 6, 2019
apple seeds
ordinary april, stunning middle, pearl, i am the bastard-thine, numbly occupied.
it’s like i’m plummeting.
your opening hand exasperatedly yells "echo the lines", as if sameness is the survivor’s way.
that godmyth can’t hold me. a creative should have its fingers in milk, haunt the wild, misadventure, else the seeds rot.
echoes just do no good at all.
blame me when there’s not room for subtlety, i don't have the eye for what might pass by.
i hadn't asked in love, but if i had, for a world beyond reach, the work of summer and winter, would’ve been taken, eaten whole.
gotta roll inspiration relatively thin in a drowsy ever, and savor the vine from which it falls.
— darlfinch / writing prompts 02
