Please wait in your car while I fumble paws unlocking the front door and smile, orientated reflex angular
as you drive off into the next universe, never meeting, never watching you make jewelry
on a rain-strewn autumn afternoon, leaves audaciously amber precariously poised on minute wire hooks. Never laughing,
never the grass-grinning shorts, never glimpsing your case notes, subject line ‘the greatness of humanity as if fragile Earth’s journalist,
never not thinking the best, even when someone least deserves it.
Somewhere, we never fell into each other’s lives, and yet your eyes are still the colour of quiet tree bark,
left so gently for hundreds, and hundreds, of moments
Olivia Burgess is an 18-year-old word chef raised and residing near London, England. Her poetry usually revolves around her deep admiration of nature, the frailty of humankind, or her muse, who shall remain unnamed. Soon embarking on an English degree, she has been published in over 20 micro press avenues. When she's not composing poetry she likes to walk dogs, cook, and stare at the moon. She hopes you take care of yourself today.
EDITOR'S SONG PAIRING:
Space Train - Spiral Drive