It Gets Cold OutSerena Chopra
The street fit beneath your feet only slightly concerned for the wrinkled decorations, Halloween, late November leaves mashed apricots smelling like your breath, sliced upset mouth-mess your nose among bedbugs, sleeping only slightly concerned for the car that broke the day Aunt Florence stopped waking.
Serena Chopra Read Bio Author Discusses Poems
|©copyright 2004-2021, No Tell Motel. All poems ©copyright the authors.|