Sunday, January 8, 2012

A lemon of hurt

He stammered
on a thought
In the lonely winter
of his head
Much had escaped
in a vaporous steam
one February night
A lemon of citric hurt
on the chapped lips
of continuous wounds
I applied a stinging salve
He, rested in my rancour and love
In my embrace of swords and skin
each night, I fed him
spoonful of spite and kisses ©