Sex and Strawberries.
Her ash grey hair flowing in the midnight wind.
Head down and skirt torn.
Tears rolling down her ivory skin.
She passes her not noticing her stare.
For the stranger watches the melancholy angel.
And gets a whiff of her scent.
Sex and Strawberries.
YOU ARE READING
Hopeless Reality
PoetryHere's a little reminder of the things that mean most to you, in case you forgot. My deepest thoughts spewed into this book. A book dedicated to my future self. Thank you for listening.
