A sea damp drawer. My slow confession. A threadbare puffin waits, lavender in his seam. I hold him to my heart and think of the work rough hand that brushed mine; a promise in a touch. Hope rises, insistent. It's not who I was, nor who I am; but who I might become. I hold it closer still.
A sea damp drawer. My slow confession. A threadbare puffin waits, lavender in his seam. I hold him to my heart and think of the work rough hand that brushed mine; a promise in a touch. Hope rises, insistent. It's not who I was, nor who I am; but who I might become. I hold it closer still.