Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Aug 2018

you play your gentle fingers down my spine
as smoothly as whiskey warms my veins

it fills my veins abruptly like dandelions popping out of fresh spring grass
A sprout of color, unwanted

It tangles my thoughts into roots dig them self deeper into me
and I cant tell if they are weeds or they are apart of me.

Do these **** grow from your words?
Or do they grow from my thoughts.
Written by
Kristine  26/F/Michigan
Please log in to view and add comments on poems