Deer-tracks.
I searched through the moon and
sticks for you, but now — I’m lost
and have fallen into the windows
washed against the walls of your
reflection. You said tragedy. A
child’s head spinning is it’s blood
and antlers.
Read next
Deer-tracks.
I searched through the moon and
sticks for you, but now — I’m lost
and have fallen into the windows
washed against the walls of your
reflection. You said tragedy. A
child’s head spinning is it’s blood
and antlers.