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Poetry

Riddles aren't fun if they are burnt out too soon. Enjoy the game. I know I will too.

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5 0 0

by Bristen-Grei

by Bristen-Grei

My stomach churns in your wake.

Let me talk to you up close.

It contracts roughly as your eyes melt into the madness of your smile.

Let me talk to you up close.

A slow tune dances into my ear whispering sickly sweet lullabies.

Let me talk to you up close.

My lips colour themselves blue. My skin no longer skin but a canvas painted with arrays of blues and purples.

Let me talk to you up close.

The doctor calls them bruises, but you say it's love.

I always love our conversations.

November 27, 2017