Poetry · 2026
8
8 ball, light-eater: dewy eyed, we look at the sky which stains our eyes, etching ink into our soul.
Sink into the sky, till I reach the horizon, our union of sun and sea, and I give back to the infinite twilight zone.
Cry me to sleep and embrace me. There’s a reason octopus have eight arms, and three hearts.
Written 17 October 2026