A Simple Exercise
My eyes are half-closed,
the pencil slipping from my numb fingers.
As your warm hands caress my skin,
my thoughts scatter.
Wind flutters through the chimes
wrapped in ice to silence their cries.
I was going to write for you,
a few lines about the sunset as you took me.
But your lips cling,
your hands possess.
The words slip away,
as forgotten as the pencil in my hand.
👁 3💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.