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sandra wyllie
Poems
Aug 2022
He Dresses to ****
in smiles and flattery. But he's
just a placebo with a medicalΒ Β
degree.
He dresses to ****
in tight dungarees, wearing
a five-o'clock shadow and Cartier
shades. He throws you a look, hiding the ace
of spades.
He dresses to ****
a flaming red rocket. You didn't
see the fuel in his trouser pocket. All you
could see was the picture in your locket.
He dresses to ****
in snakeskin boots, a Mr. Hyde. But to
the world outside, he's a white coat that loots
women as his prize.
Written by
sandra wyllie
56/F
(56/F)
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