A poem, searching for my muse Resting softly on my sideon the sideof my non-bruised ribsI ponder where is my muse?the irony is not lost on mesearching the atmosphere at my fingertips the taste of the roomon my tonguethe smell of summerfrom the gardena forever gardenblossomed that circles the circumference of my imagination unendingthe ironyContinue reading “Gingerbread”
Poetry, and other thoughts, by Darius the Mate
nicecissist 