the ground
reflects
orange light,
and the wind
playfully bites
and kisses
your face.
there is a soft chill
on the late night air;
your fingers
smell sweet,
like the inside
of her thigh,
and ten or fifteen years later
you will remember to love the winter nights.
YOU ARE READING
Flotsam and other Doggerel
Poetryso 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...
