the warm water wrapped around his waist, his back pressed against rock
a rustle in the bushes led him to worry, and he leant forward
a curse and string of name-calling flitted through lips unseen
the king's face lit up like the city at night, giddy feeling like a teen
his roaring voice introduced his old friend in a prideful strife, but untoward
was the usually rambunctious god, for he revealed that he lost his goblet, what a shock
YOU ARE READING
this fantastical world is too surreal (poetry #5)
Poetry"a rustle crackles underneath jackboots crossbow tight in hand she breathes one final breath before he pulls the trigger" you know the drill
