Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Aug 2011
Walking through winter with an orange in my pocket
Impaled with a gasp
By the whitest of mornings
I have fully left midnight
Velveteen and drunken
Tangled all in the branches behind
Gone away and I am glad
This is not cowardice
Creeping like death in the cold
It is a wind-stung
Cautiousness
Natural when so brand new
Written by
Isabel Morgan
Please log in to view and add comments on poems