Stop it, now you’re just trying to make you cry

undoing nothing, memories from midnight to 4am, sunshine through golden hair, out of the tree and into the birthday cake, sing psalms to a frightened child, touch the softest part of your hand to his brow; stop it, now you’re just trying to make you cry.

If it makes me cry, I put it here

June 9, 2023

arden briar smith