I am sandpaper
longing frictions heat.
To grow both fat and
weary, sloughing
away your skin.
See what is strength
suckered and sickly
is set
to diminish.
But paper handholds,
why so dusty?
You aim for ignorance,
blooded hands to tease
simply tremor.
Yes, each whisper
charms so sweetly,
sweetly rough
against your grain.
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 5:39 AM UTC
I am sandpaper
longing frictions heat.
To grow both fat and
weary, sloughing
away your skin.
See what is strength
suckered and sickly
is set
to diminish.
But paper handholds,
why so dusty?
You aim for ignorance,
blooded hands to tease
simply tremor.
Yes, each whisper
charms so sweetly,
sweetly rough
against your grain.
Request permission to use this poem