she is walking with great haste
with the menthol charred taste
of her cigarette, still burning,
on the tip of her tongue yearning
lest the rain drops douse the tip
that burns inches from her lip
she doesn't even know
that she is beautiful
which is why the clouds grow
and damper her halo
YOU ARE READING
Thresheld
PoetryMy life is a series of thresholds that I overcome through poetry. Love, loss, pain, regret, humor, irony, word play, and even sarcasm are as much apart of my life as they are central to my poems here. I am Thresheld. UPDATE: It's been quite a few ye...
