wicked
You said I smelt like a rose
you plucked my petals
one by one
slowly whispering
she loves me
she loves me not
my legs were spread wide
like the ocean
and you drowned in my waters.
The smell of burn toast
brought me to my senses
and the memory of a rose garden
between my legs
was long forgotten.
2067--Rogue asteroid severs continent, amputates 22 Western states. This happens next...
(feminist, writer and reader)
Mary Blowers, Author: Book Reviews and Freelance Writing Blog
ART as a WEAPON
prolific poetry ❁ passionate prose ❁ painting provocative pictures
prolific poetry ❁ passionate prose ❁ painting provocative pictures
Channeled Poetry of Spirit
You are the poem.
Naina Bahl
imagination| representation| diction
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Norbert Blei's Poetry Dispatch and other Notes from the Underground. “We live to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection,” said Anaїs Nin.
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Poetry & Prose by Carol J Forrester
Big Pictures. Tiny Stories.
” the smell of burnt toast ” ….and roses , so wickedly bewitching . Love you Chrissy ! megxxx
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and so true to life. xx thank you Meg! sending you love xxx
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You left me speechless. You don’t write any clunkers. Another amazing poem with such erotic imagery. This was freakin’ hot. Love your work.
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thank you x
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https://thelighteningandthefire.wordpress.com/2015/10/26/mystify-me/
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inxs mystify me – fuck I’m too old for this shit
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