The rough-hewn bits of her exhausted dreams are evident;
but what were they?
To be held?
To be left alone? To have things change?
She has tasted molten honey for a reason—
the scent of bigotry is enough to send chills down
It would take time for cold grey to bleed in and delude us
into thinking otherwise;
her lips, still moist continue to defy departing springtime.
Photo credits: Alina Szapocznikow, ‘Undone,’ Pinterest
Posted for Play It Again @ Real Toads
& Posted on Open Link Night @ dVerse Poets Pub