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a bell
is really  
blue as
pug desire
her stepper
to classify
cardio that
variably arms
her visit
with a
spall of
society where
doves fasten
their seatbelt
but mark
this lore
of strumpet
a bell peepper of strumpet
sweet ridicule Feb 2016
I can't walk in
flowered printed heels
I've watched you study yourself in
the mirror
steady neck leading down to
gentle shoulders and halcyon hands
sour ideas filling my brain I'm
imagining my hands
sweetening your concerned
soft-muscled legs
into certainty
bronze-brown strands of curly hair
on dark grey seats
I sense dancing trees behind me
and savor the beautiful bitterness
of abyssal secrets
on my saccharine tongue
your collar bones are silken
and veiled with Taurus-led
misunderstandings.
mine are always veiled with
uncertainty and
sporadically veiled with
you
this was nice to write
kaylene- mary Jan 2015
She wrote her poems along his walls
Painted pristine flowers
With infinite stokes of pink
In hopes it would show the way she thinks
Black and blue
Across the mirrors
She left him haikus
She made shelter from his heartless soul
Planted roses in his throat
She watched her garden grow
Pesticides inside his tongue
Always at the mercy of his words
But retracting from his fingertips
Came the thorns she didn't cut
Writing lost its touch
She screamed out her last extract
Copy written from her heart
Bleeding all alone
She wrote her poems along his walls
To give reason
For burning down his home

— The End —