Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mar 2016
“Tell me if it burns” you said
“Not after this” is what I want to say.
No, never.

But my mouth hasn’t moved.
46, 47, 48.
The seconds crawl like my skin
I haven’t spoken for almost a minute.
I smile,
the curve of my lips put you at ease.

“No, not at all.”
Your hand inches forward, fingers slim like sharpened knives
I am reminded of my mother’s favourite kitchen set.

“Keep going.”
Written by
Please log in to view and add comments on poems