Sep 10th 2010 06:10 pm Line Breaks, con sal.
You make me die,
a little bit,
each day,
without even the tremendous helping hand
of time
By sundown, I’m but a million morsels
of decay
as atoms reverse their tap dance
in a delayed orbit
around each eye full of almonds:
two salty caverns
Your torture is as exclusive as it is
elusive,
swift, comparable to
a mere drizzle of honey; it’s funny
But not in a healthy way
(Sarah Martin contributed this.)
Posted by admin / Poetry and Sarah Martin