teach me how
to talk so pretty
with the nightingales
casting colored
shadows from
your honey-flavored tongue
just like the day that
your lips painted the
coastland, shining with
golden sandbank
to my unvarnished ears.
remember the day that
your mouth spilled roses
for my hands but
your heart threw
thorns to the
pockmarks visible
in my feeble
rib cage?
teach me
how to talk so
pretty when
your heart got
teeth and
biers.
—MLD | 08032021
YOU ARE READING
Artifice
PoetryMy question marks were never caged but they always find ways to conceal their images and trick the pachydermatous spectator with artifice. Maybe, certainty can be Socrates listening to the mixtape in my closet? Maybe uncertainty can be me withou...
