Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mar 2013
Cinnamon whiskey
Burning hot like unseen lace.
Him and her: Frisky.
In my mind, her face.

Dark and structured
Cheek bones and jaw line
Imagination fractured
But all the same: Mine.

When I don't know
What he is doing
I imagine what is so.
Despite rationality shooing.
Ann Beaver
Written by
Ann Beaver
851
   JL and Soul
Please log in to view and add comments on poems