God sends wet kisses
as lipstick stains
to make the ground jealous.
It was never love, you fool.
How does it work?
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.
More stories from Poetry and writers in Poets and other communities.
my feet are playdough you carve my toes into a rose something to brighten the dark wooden dresser in your bland bedroom
By Poetry3 years ago in Poets
Something sits at the end of my tongue. A memory that is unable to form into words. A distant train bellows with the same frustration that pollutes the whites of my eyes.
By Amanda Abelaa day ago in Poets
Here is the church, Here is the steeple, Here is the pastor And his new vehicle. Don't you worry, He didn't use the tithes...
By CT Idlehouse6 days ago in Poets
This story was originally published 2 years ago. In Memory of T.M. The ashes arrived in a beautiful hand-carved wooden box. When I saw it, it was displayed next to a little porcelain figurine of a mother and son elephant.
By Mezmur6 days ago in Confessions
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.