It's Still Life

Leaning on Solid Space

I am stood on a far shore.
Powerless. I smell of old bones.
Me, a tiny survivor,
a day on the ridge of cold.
The 28th day of the 9th month,
it was like drowning in a raindrop.
The inevitability of it all.
And I wonder, did you say,
Well, that flew by fast
as you were teased into
the pelvis of that white light.

P’Blooming: Day 2 Scents