Poet 15: ElzuWolfe

For All The Wrong Reasons

A kiss is still a kiss, and whilst I wish I can’t help but understand that this isn’t just confusion, binding my listless sense of emotion to the hull of a sinking ship, the last words from his lips, stripped of all love and floating above the shore like a lifeless bottle, sad and cold in the ocean’s lens, chewed up and spat out in the weathers reverend sense of independence, cautious and abandoned, But this maiden voyage waves her hand to the restless swoon of the sea, a shuddering conundrum of metaphors leaking in absolute impendence, Words won’t seem to mend this, so I sink into the water like a dying star, sun spat rain shot, blizzards galore, this monsoon wavers, Aphrodite favours the silence of our heart beat, before the storm.

And no bottle arrives, only tear stained letters are late,
And this wouldn’t be the first time, I burnt holes in the words that I hate.

The End

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