ㅤㅤ

olive light trickles through cracked shutters; salt clings to my shoulder blades. where my breath dances with terracotta dust. grapes sleep in bowls, figs split with sweetness, and time walks barefoot across mosaic floors. “here is where you send your hush in tidefold letters,” and the shore replies in salt-sewn gleam. [of ivyeur, 2024.]   🀀