Saturday, January 2, 2010
Unorthodox.
Chest full of coal,
stomach full of stones,
An untended garden,
sprouting poisonous blooms.
Scents that trace over linen,
Stripped walls of alabaster blue,
the smell in my hamper of you
waiting to be washed out of my life.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Newer Post
Older Post
Home
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment