Posted On: July 24th 2026, 11:50 am
Look at
Our necks,
It’s there, something
We bury, every
Summer, beneath
Princess bloodlines
Coursing through
Veins and roses,
Roses, in such
A delicate
Row one could
Almost mistake
Them for
Affection but
It’s all just, because,
Somewhere, in those
Silences, our truths
Were almost
Even