This morning, I carried the cold choke of tears from a fading vision, back to the warmth of my bed. Dreams aren’t characteristically so on-time, Ever arriving in a cloaked foretelling. Or standing with its…
christina rivera // essayist & author // MY OCEANS @ NUPress Sp'25
This morning, I carried the cold choke of tears from a fading vision, back to the warmth of my bed. Dreams aren’t characteristically so on-time, Ever arriving in a cloaked foretelling. Or standing with its…