Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Nov 2018
This spread of paper          so cold that
      my tongue-tip    aches-freezing
the    dense flowing words    as ice
    down the ***** by gravity

Katabatic attack
    relentlessly      for weeks
My preception --whiteout;
rain, snow, hail, sleet.
    Precipitation always
measured by soul & pain

:: 12312015 ::
EP Robles
Written by
EP Robles
  361
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems