Hi
10 Followers
Beneath the split grin of dusk writhes fog, silk strangled with milk. It braids fences into ghosts and licks trees with tongues of hush, and I kneel, jaw cracked open with prayer gutted raw under the bright enamel mask of silence flayed thin.
Help me, please
I’ve stopped rushing through meals. Food tastes better when you have time.
A hawk corkscrewed through the wind, drilling silence into spirals. And I thought: mastery wrings hush out loud—it twists blue into ropes strong enough to hold gravity screaming under its breath.