I can taste the 8pm cigar rolling off my lips
Old habits Dancing across my tongue fingers shaking
asking
aching
The earth still earth when its quaking
What am I now
Nerves severed or settled
I can feel the liquid warmth from the shower hours ago
The water was brisk cold slow
Vision vibration
Deep deep breaths
realization
Dead thoughts dripping down drains
Who am I
When it rains
The sky fire and brimstone
Outside in time
for sunset
In bed in time
with a midnight kiss
12:00 AM July 10th
YOU ARE READING
Whims of a weary traveler
PoesíaDo you want to know my life? Do you want to read the whims of a weary traveler? Are you too a lost boy holding the pieces of his life in his hands? Read if you dare know the soul of a wanderer looking for home.
