
Woven threads
patterns moving
under fingers with
craft and cunning,
created to hold
bodies of blood
for futures to come.
Thank you for reading! Please follow or subscribe to read more poems!
-Alina
Writer in San Francisco, CA

I saw her at the
Crossroads, black dog at her heel
A torch in her hand
Another drink, a day gone
Torch burning in the darkness

Woven threads
patterns moving
under fingers with
craft and cunning,
created to hold
bodies of blood
for futures to come.
Thank you for reading! Please follow or subscribe to read more poems!
-Alina