Member-only story
Flat lines
1 min readAug 16, 2018
Longing. I return again and again.
A memory of fingertips
An arch of brow
The fish are all dead in the bay.
Did I tell you the fish are all dead in the bay?
Scowls intrusions incursions inclinations
Nothing binds. Nothing sticks.
My restive heart returns
Airborne I fly like spores
Across the moon skittering clouds
Quelled desire. Squelched dreams.
Longing. I return again and again.
The fish are all dead in the bay.
By Margaret D Kruger
Copyright August 2018
All Rights Reserved
Sarasota FL 34236
