(81) autark · 19. Februar 2005
+++ She touches me on the lips, a single finger. A caress. I am silent. She looks at me with wet eyes, mascara running, stick-stained lips crinkled from hurt. I look at her eyes, green tainted the brown of our collective sadness, and apply all sorts of terrible metaphors to them which she accepts ...

Kommentare

(2) barank · 24. April 2021
danke
(1) Kerokrst vergibt 7 Klammern · 21. Februar 2005
Write that times as poem! Sounds oneself well!! Schreibe das mal als Gedicht. Hört sich gut an!!!