Summer is a warm month
Burgundy beating hearts
And painted toes buried in sand
Autumn is a crisp month
The leaves under boots
And my shriveled heart in your hands
It's funny how red lips
Full of red words and red kisses
Can so quickly turn orange with neglect
The seasons change so quickly
Carrying missed opportunities and regret
The brown leaves that used to be green
And the orange lips that used to be red
This is what has become of you and me
The concept of us is all in my head.
YOU ARE READING
Misty (a collection of my poetry) {{COMPLETE}}
ПоэзияA road trip of poetry, I guess. Care to come along? Highest rank: 267 in poetry Read my third poetry book, "hush." I have high hopes for it. Read my first poetry book, "where the bluebirds aren't." (Or don't, it's old and rather embarrassing). ⚠️...
