one minute to tell them apart…and the service moved onto your page. one tick. one mirror to separate. one thing it can’t do. one face scattered across the whole station still no edge to find. from him to her…from her to him…from face to glass again…already impossible to say which is which
one minute to tell them apart…and the service moved onto your page. one tick. one mirror to separate. one thing it can’t do. one face scattered across the whole station still no edge to find. from him to her…from her to him…from face to glass again…already impossible to say which is which
waiting is the ride. love your poems!