A brisk moonlight lingers
The delicate strokes of an old painting
Folded a moldy picture mint perfect
Attracts dust
Beneath the cracks
In the rearview mirror
He whimpers
A whisper
A chance encounter
Poses a memory
He quivers
The withering silence of her voice is violence
Her body entices
With Irish
I want
To taste
her cream
Too much information
Changing of faces
Stretched too thin
To keep her inline
To make her mine
Too Stupid to see
Strangers make the most of the dark
Sparked by the passion flashing within
From the start
Standing still with time
Asking whether she's mine
Under the weather
In early September
YOU ARE READING
The Lonely Position of Neutral
PoetryBen's throat cancer has returned. Living a lonely life, he found a woman he loves but finds out she's been unfaithful. Ben starts to think the lonely position of neutral isn't that bad. He writes poems and dialogue narratives. Will Ben survive cance...
