I am
Crying
Crimson
Inside
I am
Forest
Fullness
In deed
I am
Buried
Bullion
Ingots
In the
Words I
Will con-
Cede here
To you
Pistol
Packing
Tulip
To you
Loving
Looping
Rhetor
To this
Beating
Bulging
Tremor
Tuning
Heart hailed
Hue horned
Taxis
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 10:17 PM UTC
The ear,
The oil, resists
Stubborn word water
She locked her neck target
Like a missle mother
I chimed in
Like a dusty daughter
But she loaned attention
To someone further
Away I go
To ground control
So my flighty feet
Embrace the mold
Of the runways and get-a-ways
For which I've packed
Will busy mother
Want me back?
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 9:51 PM UTC