August 09, 2024

In the alcove of my moon, I spiral with this unwelcomed epicenter. I chased the last tremor two summers ago. But this seism unearthed the rose I buried three summers ago. Once in a nightmare, she ghastly whispered that Winter Boy was the last of my kind. With wide eyes and sunken hope, I laboured through that tsunami. I stacked the bricks of my wall all through the spring. I planted trees all over the grave. However, this giggling earthquake dug the grave, and my moon wavered for the skeleton of the rose. So, I eat my insecurity and veil my shiver. I chain my tongue and write my anxiety: the first spring of that summer fell on that fall. Unlike him, that fall was my only spring. I fear. I fear. I fear day and night. My moon quake in this desert. I tremble that the thirst shall never be quenched. I fear. I fear. I fear day and night.