My lady says that her guts are spilling roses but I have never once presented her a flower
My lady says that her vision is pink and blurry she confused me for another, says she felt the same in his embrace. He who has been with twenty other women, he who has never been to her birthday celebrations, he who has never as so much given her a reason to smile
But she holds him like she held me
A vase breaks within me and I start to spill roses
YOU ARE READING
Not Quite, Midnight | poems
Poetry~she sets out to write for herself but casts a line from her ship of lunatics in case there was someone adrift trying to read along.
