I guess I can’t credit the Milankovitch cycles for this phenomenon.
A poem (feat. my fish)
It was going to happen eventually, I guess.
Another cryptic poem about fish.
I suppose this is what I meant to write all along.
we strap beaks around our ears breathe in herbs like potpourri the air isn’t safe without it and I haven’t seen your bare cheeks in months, in weeks your eyes glitter from behind plastic lenses meant to keep you safe from me me, who you once said was your only PPE talk to me through […]