harvest.

like, plow, askance, afraid, babyfaced, something, floats, will, days, drape, combining, logical

i like to hear me cry
it proves the plow is still held in steady hands,
not running the rows askance.

i don't mind being afraid
cause that babyfaced innocence quickens the core
like something sharp with purpose all its own

only the cream floats to the top
but when will i settle?

when my days come home to roost?
when my skin is a fabric draped over my bones,
the lines on my face combining into the most revealing of harvests?

nothing logical is ever said in a decent argument with self.