deepundergroundpoetry.com
Red
She says we all have our
vices. I sit bedside with my
head in my hands. Her
clothes are bright and
balled up on the carpet.
She says it's not the
end of the world. Her
hands work the tension in my
neck. Sometimes, I swear her
fingers wrap all the way
around.
She says you're not the
only one. We lie in the
dark, her hand sinking down. She
whispers to me; her tongue is a
serpent.
vices. I sit bedside with my
head in my hands. Her
clothes are bright and
balled up on the carpet.
She says it's not the
end of the world. Her
hands work the tension in my
neck. Sometimes, I swear her
fingers wrap all the way
around.
She says you're not the
only one. We lie in the
dark, her hand sinking down. She
whispers to me; her tongue is a
serpent.
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