Sep 2015
A pen,
firmly sat in the bosoms of her fingers.
Tentatively displaying his virility on a paper.
That shimmers like it has just been immersed in blood.
The words,
written,
stink like burnt bird feathers
firmly sat in the bosoms of her fingers.
Tentatively displaying his virility on a paper.
That shimmers like it has just been immersed in blood.
The words,
written,
stink like burnt bird feathers
I keep on reflecting on this Poem because every time I get down to write, I know it, I was told to some extent, I got implored to check on the diction I use, they said, "Your words stink like burnt bird feather".. very single day of my life, I ask myself, which kind of bird feathers .... perhaps on day I will get an answer
