Worn leather and trees
Taller than time.
I run my fingers
Along the curves,
Tracing the words of wisdom
That linger.
I weave our stories together
Carefully; thoughtfully.
Bathed in sunset and
Thick, sweet honey,
Dripping from your teeth;
You make promises
You know that we can't keep.
Bitter like coffee,
A dash of cinnamon;
You burn my
Lips and throat.
And I regret every touch,
Every last taste.
YOU ARE READING
Pleasure or Pain? (Poetry)
PoetryI call this my book of chaos; my sanctuary. When the turmoil inside of me resurfaces, when I've surpassed my tipping point, putting my jumbled thoughts and conflictions into words gives back the control I initially lost.
