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 (cogswell) // at the confluence of motherhood & oceans
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…