she needs to be warmth,
but come from a place
where the summers
are pleasantly
cold,
and winters
are spent in front of
a hearth,
and she needs
eyes
like the puddles
on a forest floor,
and hair
like late
autumn harvest,
and she needs
bones
of old
timber;
strong enough
to not let me
anchor down
her soul.
YOU ARE READING
Flotsam and other Doggerel
Poesíaso often we can all feel broken and ugly and not very good, not too disimilar from so much poetry. but we can change, and with us so too can poetry change, how it speaks to us, or how we read it. poetry is ups and downs, the good bad ugly and stup...
