poetry 101 rehab: roots

grow old with me, you said. pressed a vial into my palm. this will help. blue-crystal liquid sparkled - you caught my wrist when i tried to bring it to the light. light exposure harms it, you said. so you watched me drink; doubtless, enraptured. and we never stopped to put roots down. no -… Continue reading poetry 101 rehab: roots

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