Who knew (6) parts one, two and three
Sticky breath on the back of my neck,
her nettled tongue circles a sixpence of flawed skin.
That old metaphor the suitcase rears it’s ugly head…again.
a hill of discarded clothes.
Undress. Love be damned.
You have no idea how long I have been drifting.
The lost years,
Clutching a slim volume of verse,
the language of the poets.
I touch the scar where I fell.
You have no idea.
YellowFlower – Free to read and comment on at http://www.daveyoungpoet.wordpress.com