Mar 10
Smell the soiled petrichor
Swelling shortly after storm
A strangely energetic lull
A muddled numb then
Silence split by splashing tires
Mixed with crow calls
Thunder choirs and drying
Damp while cloud-skies loom
Safe I stay,
inside my room
© SXT 2022
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I write stuff when something begs to me to write. The goal is to write ten-thousand things before I die. I tend to be morbid, reflective and personal.
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I write stuff when something begs to me to write. The goal is to write ten-thousand things before I die. I tend to be morbid, reflective and personal.
