Ravine

The sadness
with its sharp oblong
teeth and low growl
riddled with past lives
I’ve stepped too right
(or too left)

It’s not the echoes that plague me
it’s the awkward digits that haunt me

It’s his bright blues that call me home
and if I don’t watch myself, I’ll
return to the arms that fed me
dark kisses every morning

Oh sadness my loyal friend
and lover

Saschia Johnson




3 thoughts on “Ravine

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