You make it all go red,
bottled wine crimson.
Pictures pop like plump bubbles,
sleep clogged
with soggy might-have-beens.
I bounce my words
along a washing line
in the hope they’ll find you
looking out
at a cement-made sky,
windows lashed
with crinkled blobs of rain.
Pause. A thought.
Skinny ***** of light
javelins across your face.
A sentence built
with strawberries,
not a comma
like an ugly smudge of blood.
Sep 15, 2017
Sep 15, 2017 at 3:45 PM UTC
You make it all go red,
bottled wine crimson.
Pictures pop like plump bubbles,
sleep clogged
with soggy might-have-beens.
I bounce my words
along a washing line
in the hope they’ll find you
looking out
at a cement-made sky,
windows lashed
with crinkled blobs of rain.
Pause. A thought.
Skinny ***** of light
javelins across your face.
A sentence built
with strawberries,
not a comma
like an ugly smudge of blood.
Written: September 2017.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time. Feedback welcome as always. A link to my Facebook writing page can be found on my HP home page.
NOTE: Many of my older pieces will be removed from HP at some point in the future.
Request permission to use this poem