an old melody
left hanging
long after the silent noise
swallows the air whole.
the warmth
of pomegranate tea
trickling downward
in an empty stomach.
the wrinkles on cold knuckles,
fresh linen sheets,
honey down my throat.
battle scars;
burgundy lightning striking it's way
up boney knees
from tumbling so **** hard
over the cracked sidewalk.
rain on Sunday.
flakes of frost
emerging from the clouds
finding their way to our scalps;
standing outside, pushed against
fuzzy fabrics
that rest over your chest
saying, 'oh, please
I'm in love
I'm in love.'

Copyright ©  2015 Alyssa Packard
All Rights Reserved