Photo by Jonathan Cooper on Unsplash
white icicle world;
furnace of your hands over
mine in dying light
About the Creator
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More stories from Raistlin Allen and writers in Poets and other communities.
A Love Forboding
The chipped stone slope caused unbearable footing. I slid, skirting on my heels. I cast my shield, relinquishing my guard to stay upright. Left with my double-edge and a prayer to the maker, I skated toward my objective. The earthly stubble gave way to solid ground. I found myself restored, a trail of dust in my wake.
By James U. Rizzi3 days ago in Fiction
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