By Ariba Khan This work has previously been published on Write the World. A morning glory with wilted tendrils seres, desiccate with decay. Her veins no longer throb, She shrinks and withers away. Her tendrils coil no more; roots bleeding dry. Her petals fall apart, Beneath the tenebrous sky. Softly, sunk beneath the soil, alone … Continue reading Bouquet, Untouched
