Not Fragile—Fermented
- DeAnn Caldwell
- 22 hours ago
- 1 min read
Love of mine, someday you will die
But I'll be close behind, I'll follow you into the dark
No blinding light or tunnels to gates of white
Just our hands clasped so tight, waiting for the hint of a spark
I don’t bruise easily. I age into flavor.
Call it decay if you want. I call it depth. A sweetness with a sting.
Some flowers wilt. Others drip poison. Guess which kind I am?
Feel too much? You’re in the right place.
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