She whispers,
Tongue sweet
Like the chocolates
window dressing
the store.
Each word clothed in tinfoil
dozing in a paper shell.
She speaks,
So sweet
Each letter a slice into the centre,
oozing candied-cream.
She whispers,
So bitter
Sour milk curdling in the warm run-down fridge.
Dark chocolate dipped in.
"No sugars added,"
She whispers.
A poem I began forming in my head while walking to the gym yesterday. Before I started working out, I jotted down the first stanza and bits of the next one, plus the overall concept. I’m Just Being Ho
Should my days end with no romantic love waiting for me beyond the veil, or perhaps no lover left mourning me, with a glimmer of light burning sorrowful and bright knowing one day they will join me; t
I do realize this is not what Frida meant with this quote but this is a little spin on it... In Response to the Quote: “I’m not fragile like a flower, I’m fragile like a bomb” ~Frida Kahlo I’d rather
