2052

Her voice was modulated
By the voids in the terminal space,
By the long carpet lanes
That bloom and die in fluorescent light.
“Missed the flight,” she said;
“Shit.”
Joy was like a release of something lost
And unfound still.

2052

mark drago

Bronx, NY, United States

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poetry

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  • Nikolay Semyonov
  • mark drago
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait

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