Skinny cigars stain the teeth
that clamor and grind
lending cavities smoke to drink
There is no dawn, no dusk
Only the hill
breaching the concave of a night
seemingly still
It is where the soul tends to dwell
that penitence rests
Which without
I cannot seize
falsifiable realities
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Author:
coracaodacripta (
Offline) - Published: July 11th, 2024 06:34
- Comment from author about the poem: Happy bday big sis
- Category: Surrealist
- Views: 7
Offline)
Comments1
Excellent write
Thank you
You're welcome
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