Poetry Blogs (stupid petty MRA bullshit there is no right to be)
poemagraphic on I never lied in the rose garden. (Cummings and goings) (8 hours ago)
Roused by a stiff, stale air
pressing in like the bends
a hospital bed; a prison cell
you came to me like a scalpel
two-faced, three heads
that makes Six: this must be hell.
I've been churned over, remapped, flipped rightside-back by home surgeries to keep me shut away from you. I've spent countless days and sleepless nights, stitching closed the curtains that play with your phantom breeze flirtatiously...
Tuesday 16th December 2014 4:34 pm