Whispers again and whispers down the lines
I look above and i cry at a monster
Hands around cradle busy the demon dines
My eyes close but opened something old
Yes please just the espresso
My server brings a cup laced in gold
Enjoying Columbia's finest black
Fuck me are the chances this plane lands
Missed seatac to die in arizona sands
-
Author:
Kessler (Pseudonym) (
Offline)
- Published: June 27th, 2025 10:33
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 2
Comments1
Here I catch rambling thoughts on a trip. Wonder what's in Arizona. Well done
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.