legs men dream of overseas
legs you stole and lied for to be between
you filthy young scoundrel
women play with real contenders
women fight battles you'll never hear of
you didn't think this through, did you?
where are the candles and music?
where is the blood of romance anymore?
you little boy
listen to the cries of your mother
listen to the lament of your sisters
you hear not the female sensuality
but the tenderness of home
but the love held within the posterity
you hear everything else
legs mean more than a home for yours
legs can mean more than that bullshit.
YOU ARE READING
little blue flowers
PoetryA collection of original poetry by Ella Petrichor. Highest Rank: #152 in Poetry (6/14/18) **COMPLETED** ::Excerpt:: "betrayal along the seams" A melancholic pallor lining her face She stood in the doorway Beating the shit out of that old rug As thou...
