***
Ever caught the whiff of a seeping fervor,
Like perfume slit on the edge of one's neck,
Down to its wrist and to its fingernails,
The sashaying red-colored nightgown,
Evident on her bone-sticking flesh,
Wine on one hand, ardor of its color red,
She danced under the flickering night light,
Splaying her feet upon broken glass shards,
With her passionate emotions pouring,
Down the drain of her own void,
Psychotic! Some would say of her,
As she drowned in the red of her own ardor,
Ardor for the love that she lost,
And would never ever grasp another one,
Even just a taste of its sweet appeal.
***
"Potions of passion is sweet if consumed moderately. But when one is greedy for more, it destroys the love you have grasped on something or someone..."
YOU ARE READING
A World of Poems
Poésie"The dead that weaves in the spindle, A bundle of silk - woven and spun, Collected and collected, Until it's a huge massacre of stars." -Excerpt This is an original made poetry collection about life and are written in many forms of genre like love...
