I want you to close your eyes and hear it, feel it, smell it. War. The ash softly singing the fine hairs of your arm, a playful bite like frosted snow on a naked arm.
By Kahlil Rahme3 years ago in Poets
Great, tufts of cottoned graphite curl and contort, above mine form, illuminating soft and distort, A gentle red, from the eyes of beaming brake lights that howl and cut short,