POEM BY CHLOE KOUTSOUBELIS
PROMISED LAND
It doesn’t scare me
that this pencil leaves
no marks but only traces
of melted sky on the paper.
Neither it scares me
that instead of paper
I write over your body,
warm conch of fragrant chamomile
spread everywhere.
It only scares me
that one day
I’ll write poems on paper.
Libros Libertad 