Thursday, 24 November 2016

how you will

             how you will

call her a bitch
a girl misunderstood
call her how you will
the bitch rules
the bitch is rising
feels to the eye
like a breast to the hand
leaving you to ache
at what you
cannot have
she's letting that
pink cirrus cloud
slip from silver
just some old thing
the sun left out for
her to pick up if she
chose and cast off
if she would

the bitch rules
that evening sky
and humbles ocean
to a gasp like a
fish on sand

               january 24 2016

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