deepundergroundpoetry.com

Trip

We tiptoe 'round
feelings, and other  
confuzzling things  
we dare not read into  
cement-stayed with ends-frayed all
stinging beneath our heart's lining.  
 
Tickling the pineal with limerick  
the ole gland, the grand  ‘ship  
submerged in emotion yet  
surfacing empty, after and only  
while we were left drowning in
home-grown defeat.
Written by ursa
Published | Edited 8th Aug 2022
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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