Posted in New Work, Poetry


We never notice

when the ice melts;


through feigned annoyance

at the precipitation

on the glass

as the water mellows to meniscus;

Somehow we miss

the naked glory divine

in the simple, prepense cycles

of the life


we declare inane

and eventually leave



Curating Personal Year 9. Wife and mom of 3. Writer. Zentrovert. Aspiring Engineer. Resident Badass.

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