Westwind

Tea Time Warp

Kelsey Kwong

 

Crumbling cradles of hope

No cushion of faith to leap

Atop a blanket of stars

The moon dripping oceans deep.

Leaves linger in swirling skim,

Sinking summons innate steep.

Tongues. They dampen the mind.

Lips. They wither to reap.

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