there is a daubed incrust
fringed on the cusp of those protruding desires, a watery stare,
a hollow kind of sinking eyes.
and he will ask, with careful lies,
with lotus-smiles, with impending cries —
a faltering fervour, or perhaps, an unsound lust?
〝 CHILD, ARE YOU INCLINED TO BARGAIN IT ALL? 〞
YOU ARE READING
WICKED HEARTS
Poetry❝ WE ARE ALL THE BAD IN SOMEONE'S STORY. ❞ do not copy. all rights reserved ⓒ 𑁍 blue rose awards | first place in poetry & second place in unknown story
