Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
her
out of the cracks of her chapped lips
poured out the slow stream of scalding coffee
and all her thoughts that she could not
put on paper.

and I longed to kiss her,
to taste her favourite colour
to feel her thoughts touch my lip
(all the things she would not -could not- tell me)
to let her know that she is not leaking -
she is just overflowing.

— The End —