Posted in Poetry

madly in love

wicked words of speech
drooling down her cheek
the atrocities of war
never quite compare to the way she dyes her hair

and she chases me
through a mirrored maze
neither knows enough to care
about the tragedies happening up there

we run and run and run
while the rivers turn red
until she pulls up a chair
tells me we should help the lads with prayer

down on my knees
she towers over me
strokes my face so fair
hands me a ripened pear

her love so juicy

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