Lost
January 7, 2021
The impressionable dove swoons the crow.
Gone is sensibility in the craver of swan meat.
A sour treat disguised to look sweet.
The mind trembles in anticipation.
The longing left to fester in a pungent maw.
Words carrying sweet nothings.
Waiting with bated breath.
The anticipation but a waste.
Words are simply that, words.
0 snaps·4 views
View on Power Poetry →