Body: clay, molded to imperfection, baked and glazed and baked and painted, placed at the edge of a three-legged table that shakes and shudders under no one’s touch.
Mind: the table.
If you enjoy reading my posts, please like, comment, and/or subscribe. I’d love to connect with you. Also, if my poems suit you, check out other poems I’ve written on my poetry page.
© Copyright by Syndal