Words Will Come

I was too empty for words, nothingness gnawing at my insides, where rhythm and rhyme used to picket and pulse. And maybe there’s richness in the silent calm of nothings. Empty flower beds waiting, for the next buds of spring. Yet spring has now sprung    From whence will the words come  With which I seduce? When will I see her bloom  Through the craft of my care?   The

Updated: July 24, 2021 — 6:46 pm
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