Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mar 2013
The sharp cacti are needles in a pin cushion, sticking their needles out to ***** the finger of a helpless person.
The dry, rough ground is a pair of Winter lips, in need of moisturizing.
The one tree every 50 miles is a rain drop in a drought, treasured and loved by everyone in the desert.
The one of few ponds is a warm, rich, and steamy bath, used so much until it’s gone.
Lisa Ann Rakow
Written by
Lisa Ann Rakow  Manitoba
(Manitoba)   
611
   Roni Shelley
Please log in to view and add comments on poems