Tuesday, 4 June 2013

end


and her hair fell like

thick strips of cold jail

caged bars. buried in

shameless crowns it burns

to be your mistress. afterwards

the water tastes better because

we dipped our prayers in

it’s forbidden. this is the end to

what i needed to end.

what i needed  to

end.

this will be my last poem

so that i remember. because before melted steel, there was hand-made, better, buttered words. we can decide if new spaces beneath me can qui...