Words swarm.
Symbols stream.
Ideoglyphs
do not abrade the air.
They patter in the thalamus,
patterned in the eye.
There's honey in the hive
smelling of summer.
My scalp shifts,
shines.
Brilliant light swarms
within the wax.
"Remembered texts,
ReplyDeleteimagined conversations."
and the metaphor of a hive.
yes, that´s a writer.
love this. love being a writer.
xo
y.
Thanks! :)
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