wrinkles
Learn more about other poetry terms
it's your long, gray braid that i love the most.
a wisp of wisdom cascading down your back,
never tangled, whispers hymns through all the madness.
crumbs of noodles and rice spill from it while you walk,
I always liked you best when there were wrinkles on your fingertips,
even though I know you hated it, love.
