The Queeneater

A work in progress. As usual. :/ meh.

your full house-

we can paper trail this one back to the days when his hand was first dealt

and her queen singed the cards

with her gunpowdered rabbit hole

and all wonderland burst.

she left her sailors all hands on deck

and him gnawing on hell's crest

and he still wilts

but the thorns in her smile and the tongue in his ribs

soils him kindly

'you weed.'

she did always like to keep the garden looking nice

for the next hand

The End

2 comments about this poem Feed