Floral Fiction Poem by Janine Alyssa Navarro
Floral Fiction
Fingers bleed, tips of skin flaking,
I strum these 32 weeks into song.
I am in shards, fragments,
letting the melody take me in its arms.
You asked me what was in my mind,
I didn’t know what to do.
All the words come out wrong,
when all of them were about you.
You are no angel,
I should shake you off, and resist.
But my spirits fail me,
I succumb to your floral fiction.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/1/2024 10:32:10 AM # 1.0.0.1119
