2022-04-27 #poem-a-day#writing/poetry
Oh charged hands, churn my beds of sediment, Shake my inners with the vigor of a snow globe in a storm. My stilled organs are stirred to life in the quiet of the long white corridors snaking through a stilted dungeon.
I forgot how it felt for my blood to press at the seams, or the way winter air leaves my lungs pressed for more. That fraught border between safety and discomfort where traditional law strictly prohibits any