Cocooned are the minutes.
Dark.
Changing.
Dry, the hours.
Cracked.
Flaking.
Crawl, time, crawl.
We are hiding.
And this is my tired song of the pandemic… as tired, I fear, as my attempts at poetry.
Until tomorrow…
Chloe
The Cocooned Minutes
The Words & Madness of Chloe Stowe
Author. Traveler. Survivor.
