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In Our Nature
sun bleached wicker on the front porch
huffing morning honeysuckle
my thoughts buzzed like blood fat mosquitoes
my chest rose like smoke
my veins ran like a white-tail
nature crooked her finger at me
she promised relief
and I fled into the swamp
never to be seen again
Oh No!
We must see you again. We must. That is the last word on that. This poem can not be autobiographic or even metaphorical (swamp has many possibilities, however). You like all those things, especially "...sun bleached wicker on the front porch..." huh? :D
No chance in hell would I
No chance in hell would I leave y’all!! Certainly a louisiana girl at heart ❤️ sometime the swamp tries to lure you in Lol
Let your teeth show