our love was stubborn
when it catched a fever.
the sting, the burn,
the fire that marked the forest
with it's spicy flames,
engulfed it in it's heinous games.
our love had smoldered into fume
you said: open the flume!
but instead i plastered my weak palm
on your forehead
and i felt your veins throb
like the flames in quiet calm.
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Author:
Anna I. (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: June 28th, 2025 16:58
- Category: Love
- Views: 14
Offline)
Comments1
This poem takes the mind back and forth. Good write
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