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RMatheson
Poems
Jun 2013
It's Not That I Don't Love You Anymore, It's Realizing I Never Loved You to Begin With.
We've shared secrets no one else would ever want to know,
but now your brothel hair has become a nest for dead birds.
Where once you were a wet marsh,
perfumed in tangy musk,
you have now become a dry
steppe covered in rotting fish.
I'm writing acrostics of your name,
remembering you like discarded tire husks
on Arizona's August freeways.
Written by
RMatheson
Beating tired bones
(Beating tired bones)
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