I've got no room for poetry.
Mind's awash in a sea of transmission,
grey decay, and salty dreams. The dead
call without care, drawing me into them.
I must go.
A moral obligation to resist the temperature
of the mid day sun; but it burns with a heat
I cannot deny.
Desire blooms on my branches.
Perch. And I will draw out your sweet voice,
and tuck you in at night between my leaves,
dress you up in bright pink petals in the morning;
and kiss you softly before you fly away.
YOU ARE READING
Please Don't Touch
PoetryPlease Don't Touch is my first self-published book of poetry, written and published originally in 2012. #51 in Poetry, 3 June, 2017 #85 in Poetry, 4 June, 2017 #108 in Poetry, 25 May, 2017 #136 in Poetry, 26 May, 2017 #149 in Poetry, 24 May, 2017 #1...
