Poetry · Writing

little red dream

she wishes from a washed brick balcony

stars too far to hear her

but her song still travels

paved with a milky trail of clouds

it might be all that’s left

she’ll never cease her song

until the day the stars reach their subtle ears

closer to her wolf proof balcony

she’ll be back the morrow

an the next

until the stars

are in her palms

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