My heart was popcorn,
starting off as a kernel of desire,
and suddenly it popped into a blossom of corny love.
The burnt pieces of corn are accidentally digested,
a bitter taste in my mouth,
soon to become heartbreak.
YOU ARE READING
Eunoia
PoesíaBehind every poem is a story too afraid to be told bluntly. . . . I intend to write to make you feel.
