You used to ask me
If you could light my cigar
You used to walk me home at night
Even if it wasn’t that dark
Now your roses have 2 meanings:
A beautifully deceiving token
A promise to further commitment
Commitment to what is broken
So when your lighter’s flame grows
Spiraling up from your cruel fingers
I may prick myself again
Trying to steady the cigar in my hand
Thinking it’s the only one I’ll ever have
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Author:
Tom Wood (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: December 4th, 2022 23:02
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 22
Offline)
Comments3
Good write Tom. More please! 🙂
a great write!
thanks for sharing dear poet
Pricked and broken yet drawn to the flame and to the scent of bloom of promise. What a journey!
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