I am neither a fan of poetry nor a critique. Definitively not capable of writing poetry myself. So from time to time I have to “steal”…
She’s forgotten the hot shiver
of a new hand
stroking her hair
Her skin stretched and soft
like blotting paper
no longer absorbs
the ink bruise of lovebites.
Crooning a broken record of a lovesong
she tangles her hair
for the few seconds
her body convulses
And feels the power she once had given
to the nook of broad shoulders on men.
I’ve been submitting quite a few poems to literary magazines lately, so I’ve been using this blog only to post very rough first drafts or discarded poems or poems which require substantial reworking. Apologies for that! I’m still cheekily linking this up to dVerse Poets Open Link Night, which starts later on today, because I always enjoy going there for a visit. Join me if you can!