I could gift you broken dishes
Stained in crimson and ecru

Would hold them in your soft fingers
Pliant / tenderly caressing the cracked edges
Of old bowls and plates empty of
Nourishment or reciprocity
Pricking your hands, stealing
Beads of your life
Your voice, your calm
Deep shades of ruby red
Drizzling down your palms
Into my mouth

Still, you stand
With nothing but a soft smile for me
And no more room left
For you

Published by Sunshine

I am a woman in search of freedom, and writing has been an excellent friend on the path to finding that.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: