I woke up and there was moss where I only remember absenceMature

We wait for the quakes to stop.
I worry the flesh of my pinky
between my teeth and pray
to whomever is listening.
It is late and the harvest moon
is singing her song to the tides
and it’s all I hear at night.
My heartbeat crashes
against the shores of my ribs.
This body is not a fortress;
sometimes she feels like ruins.

The End

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