PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

love likes to preserve its fantasy

with a language that nibbles at anguish.





it is not a coincidence

whispers prowl and become imaginary.



  every word on tip of the tongue syllables from a messenger.    

there was a translation I could not hear it was more like an abbreviation.                                                                  

all was gray through her eyes as          

                                             smoke signaled from her lips.

I tasted her mouth                                                                                

smooth flicker lick the    

char                                                

while the singe of memory bows.



the message didn't kill the messenger,



but it slaughtered me.