Nectar of the noon pastels,
Pinks and mints and buttercups.
Lace-draped laughs whose
Bosoms swell
Fan themselves with glass teacups.
Glitter sparks in pale sunbeams;
Warmth unfolds a syrup scent.
Sweetened gasps undo the seams—
This perfumery is spent.
YOU ARE READING
Poems for Morbid Children
PoetryThis is a collection of some of my more curious and macabre poems. Many of my poems play with words, the sounds and shapes of them. However, I often attempt to delineate emotion and sensation I cannot otherwise word, or I take inspiration from legen...
