Stream of Consciousness
through lust you fast
I don't care about the flowers but I care about their journey to me down a conveyor belt at the grocery store after you clocked out of work, gingerly scanned by a cashier with long unkempt hair concealing their name tag, carried up your icy steps, petals protected by a plastic casing that rustles against your beard, set in plain sight on your coffee table surrounded by acrylic paints and empty Modelo's.
By Erin Latham Shea2 years ago in Poets







