Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Feb 2020
Projecting a melody of sweet nothings,
gracing the ****** fibers of woven silk
that refuse the touch of ringless fingers,
your cold, disjointed lips beg for a vacuum
to prevent the senses of perception
from providing wick to a fallen candle.
Written in December 2019
HearseTraffic
Written by
HearseTraffic  26/M
(26/M)   
  138
     Fawn and Bogdan Dragos
Please log in to view and add comments on poems