A ruinous cigarette
hanging, from a pair of lipstick coated lips.
Lit only by the flame of anger,
of pain and sorrow.
A red, a glow.
Blue, cold fingertips caress.
Hold and cool and comfort.
Confusion with unrequited pink,
an unwanted mix. Shaken, not stirred.
Jolted. They know only too well.
The other hand holds a glass of rose,
skimming the familiar curves,
addiction.
Much like the drag she takes
from her cigarette, he goes to her
and leaves
with the smoke.
-
Author:
bethgrace (
Offline) - Published: December 21st, 2016 13:07
- Category: Love
- Views: 45
Offline)
Comments3
Very well done in all it's constructs
a haunting piece of work. Bravo! ww
Thank you! I appreciate your feedback
WELCOME BETH ~ Thanks for a compelling first poem. It is very experiential and describes it "how it is" As we progress through life we experience LOVE in a range of "conditions" and sometimes to face LOVE and for LOVE to work we need (to steady our nerves ?) the courage afforded by nicotine ~ wine and even "drugs". These props all demand their own price ~ but then so does LOVE ! Thanks for caring and sharing ~ BRIAN
Thank you, Brian. I am very appreciative of this lovely feedback - i'll be sure to check out some of your own works
Wonderfully written poem
thank you!
Welcome
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