PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

She rode the sun in morning 

And the moon back at night 

Guided by stars

And bad circumstance

She circumnavigates my circumference.

A fireball in hell worn hills

Stepping wherever needs stepped 

Without the decency of remembering 

That the floor never forgets.

Torture wouldn’t quite be the word for it

We would need something softer this time 

Because any word for better or worse

Would lack this cotton form

I wear it all now

But I do not wear it well

Slouching in bad leather 

Yelling that I’m ready for the wrecking ball

Ready for the fire ball

For the cotton thorn you promised