twelve strikes calls the river
to run on the peach silk beds
to pool on white cotton covers
one strike calls the gut-punching
the anger and the screaming
to burn the sins of the day before
two strikes calls the dark haze
slowly beckoned
by the tiring tirade against my soul
three cents to bet
that i might wake up the next day
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 12:06 AM UTC
twelve strikes calls the river
to run on the peach silk beds
to pool on white cotton covers
one strike calls the gut-punching
the anger and the screaming
to burn the sins of the day before
two strikes calls the dark haze
slowly beckoned
by the tiring tirade against my soul
three cents to bet
that i might wake up the next day
