can you see earth—
the burial plot
in my eyes

hazel moss
and erosion of
time worn thin

i prefer tulips
to flop
to the rose that’s erect, but

the tips of my fingers buzzed
over white-capped lust
and I realize,

this moment,
this fickle weather
is the loss of what was

never ‘us’


survival isn’t always living
but there are days when it is life.
© Grace Black

Welcome to another year of  30 poems in 30 days. (Fell a bit behind, this is for day 5)



I also dabble with poetry prompts on Instagram. Follow me there, @graceblackink, for more daily poetry and to play along. Do you dabble in wordplay as well? Let’s create!




Love and Ink,


cc image Unsplash

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