Well can we change the background?
She whispered
a voice, floating somewhere above the water. ripples if you touch it, even for a second
leaving an everlasting echo of "ohhhh," somewhere on the bottom of delicious, smooth skin.
But that's not the problem here.
Vintage covers covering potholes fallen into by stray animals, people parading the streets as though they were God
"I am God," they yell
and they are not, is whispered, silently back
words that hang in the air like crystals
frozen, about to fall.
an escaped breath, just not quite far enough.
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