Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Nov 2012
Her eyes reminded me of Sunday afternoons,
Licked fingers turned to ash--
compelled to a numb and bleeding madness where
the presence of any tangible future was smoothed into
a small pebble held in the palm of her hand.
Sara
Written by
Sara  New York City
(New York City)   
Please log in to view and add comments on poems