sometimes poetry pours
my lips, fertile fields of blushing blooms
ink drips
an overflowing well of cold truth
nighttime rushes
and those same veins, tapped
speak a foreign tongue
devils play trouble
and the clock ticks
pointed truths pull at the shades
poetry turns to something else
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 7:14 AM UTC
sometimes poetry pours
my lips, fertile fields of blushing blooms
ink drips
an overflowing well of cold truth
nighttime rushes
and those same veins, tapped
speak a foreign tongue
devils play trouble
and the clock ticks
pointed truths pull at the shades
poetry turns to something else
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