Backlog

You still return,
open mouthed,
trying to find a hole
to fit tongue in.

I’ve moved beyond the space
you placed me in,
melted into stream,
clear bubbles on brown stone.

You’re hungry for a piece of
harlequin of tastes;
a noon day feast of colour
to coat your darkness.

Nothing left to pay,
we bend and stretch away
remember whisper of wind
on rain squalled beach,

the lonely shadow of a kiss

tide swept.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.