Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
r Feb 2016
Deserts are the color of her hair
Gold and bronze her skin

Silver veined salty rains
Tears a color never named

The ocean tries to please her eyes
Reflecting blue onto the skies

Or grays as gray
As the coldest days

To ever grace my way.
An old Creeker pome, god rest his badass soul.

— The End —