Flowers Cut
Poetry
We get lost in a sea of black umbrellas on a dismal, rainy day. Each crack in the sidewalk deceptively the same. No one notices how unique each drop of rain. How warming each burning flame. Or the velvet touch of each buttercup. It is the taste of unrequited love that cuts the coldest, hardest stone.
© Connie Song 2022. All Rights Reserved.
