deepundergroundpoetry.com
The First Snow.
Are we
The same?
You don’t walk
My skin,
You tread carelessly,
Leaving shining
Snowy trails on pallid oak
And crunched leaves,
A petite reflection in every looking
Glass.
Are we
Alive?
Identity
Escapes us, like a bloody
Babe slinks in turns of tear
From
The stung mother;
Constricted by
Plump,
Fleshy pulleys:
Leaving clichéd stains
On porcelain.
The same?
You don’t walk
My skin,
You tread carelessly,
Leaving shining
Snowy trails on pallid oak
And crunched leaves,
A petite reflection in every looking
Glass.
Are we
Alive?
Identity
Escapes us, like a bloody
Babe slinks in turns of tear
From
The stung mother;
Constricted by
Plump,
Fleshy pulleys:
Leaving clichéd stains
On porcelain.
Published 24th Nov 2010
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