"fft" poems
Feminine hands
Fumbling
Over the half-smoked bowl,
the lighter -
fft, fft, fft -
and the flame.
Unfamiliar maybe,
to fast times.
Fog around her
Face
And you can't even see
that she's not so
Fragile.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 8:07 PM UTC