His words are like dark liquor:
Pouring and teasing the rim of the stem glass.
A peck of sunshine upon the polished glass—
And it's burning in purple pain and liquor lust.
He tattoos every word of caress and hurt
On my arms and bare feet and stomach.
It pains and pleases the arms, red—
And lo, an army of butterflies fills my chest.
And even when he leaves, I love him more.
It's Sunday morning, but not the usual garden kisses.
A bunch of lilies on the wooden table and a note in red.
Having him was beautiful, but loving him was a black liquor mistake.
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A/N: A bunch of ideas suddenly popped into my head when I was at a winter carnival today. And this was like a birthday gift (it's not my birthday, though). I've been struggling with new ideas and looking for inspiration when things around me helped me. And that was beautiful!
I'm currently listening to Sorry. Which songs are you listening to now? And since everything is so gleeful around us, why not tap the little star and make it happy? After all, we are mankind, aren't we?
YOU ARE READING
the slow art of breathing bitter
Poetryslow dancing love and pain in the midnight chorus of liquor-washed autumn green ... || a constellation of destructive poetry ||
