Photo by Terry Johnston
Your sweet spirit and love above,
Your goddess voice up in front,
The metal that runs near the septum,
The faithful leaves that embed your wrist,
Energy and liveliness fill you,
Your heart inks you;
My sense is one of assurance,
That you are genuine, and not a poser,
No strict rule book runs you,
Only love and the natural fills you;
It feels weird, just to lay eyes,
Dirtiness and lust, I cannot,
With prominent bleached white upstairs,
Your focus is away from the one downstairs.
Like
Share
About the Creator
Alex Maurice
Short story writer, poet, and essayist.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.