2

 

                                                       
    



i know
(now)
how i knew nothing, (really)
about you. 
you  were  never
the sun  tangling in my hair,
nor
the words
lacing their way
through these bloody sutures
(so  freshly sewn)
your tongue tumbled
into  my stomach
tieing it in  knots,
creating a cats cradle
of  my nerves,
my thoughts.
i rattle the bones of truth
around in  my pockets,
trying not to prick myself,
even  as
warm wet crimson
aches through the seams
of my veil

Reviews

[Sound]

You were always a much better poet than I ever was. This poem proves it. I don't hardly come back to this site anymore. But I'm glad I came and read this poem. Great work!