PeachTreeKittens

We have a daughter called poetry— quiet with little fuss— looking up & molding us as god. Her small verbs span indifferent cities, aloof mountain ranges, & the hours of blank faced clocks between sunrises. She knows there are worse things than dark— the black waters of the mind are scarier. We have created her from love, pressed & dried bouquets & willow sticks— things only we could make a life from. One day we'll wake up as different people but the magic of a shared procreation will keep us tied— wanting to see each other's newly patchworked faces. We have a daughter called poetry—