| his fingertips were rusted
one. he had strong arms plated with gold but his fingertips were rusted.
two. his tongue and his eyes too.
three. he shined brighter than me, he said.
three. his eyes sizzling brilliance. they could warm up my insides, he said.
three. i'd been cold too long.
four. he was granting my skin with his glitter, he said.
four. the glitter was stained with the blood oozing from the friction of his touch.
five. his heavy fingers were crushing the lilacs lining my thighs.
five. i realised too late that he was also damaging and uprooting the manure under my skin.
six. he wasn't asking for the impossible.
six. he was marking it.
six. he was making it.
six. he was pushing it.
seven. 12 karat. he hadn't bought it from a half devil. he owned it. he had only half a heart of gold mine and a brain full of tarnished intentions.
and so now is my soul |
YOU ARE READING
gold & lilacs
PoetryHuman nature is all about trying to fit into the normality of society despite its own simplicity and complications First place winner in THE SINNE AWARDS
