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.
My heart is open: Pumping blood — spilling love into my veins. A river courses through me. My eyes are dry although inside I cry from the pains of yesterday. My eyes are open: Colours in sight — breed
I sit at the screen and breathe — In and out. Blasé is a feeling that’s deep. It’s not sadness per say, It’s numbness. It’s this looming hole inside of me That never heals. That aches Thinking someone
