
Pink worm crawls the sky. We sit squished on a bowed balcony far from seaside, but I am fishing for the why.
You tell me a pocketful of sunshine is all the bait you need to get by. Hand a sinker after a long day of leisure in the lasting breeze, I know this line's a lie.
The emerald minnow will survive long after the fragile light takes the bait, and our bodies slowly reel in night.
©2023 | K. F. Hartless





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