Another poem. But I'm talking to myself, so I guess it doesn't matter.
Somewhere in between the minutes
I had grown from a weedy child
with a body as parallel as a stick
into a woman with curves
and hills
rolling
down
my
hips
and you would trail breadcrumbs
up my stomach
as if your hungry mouth
needed directions.
I would feel your tongue
writing fiction
down my spine,
but the best lies
were mine.
My laughing eyes,
my cool,
confident smile,
and lips
that invited you in.
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It's never the right time for me to say anything.
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Malakanitheill
Community Member |
