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Less2TheTruth — The Thrist
Published: 2013-05-16 03:27:34 +0000 UTC; Views: 98; Favourites: 3; Downloads: 0
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Description
These bite marks on my lipsThey spell out a story,
And even as I hold back
I long for noisy victories
In once quiet halls,
And bathroom stalls
Heated, sweaty, noisy victories
I don't keep score
The pace is not what matters
Every spark when lips meet flesh
Tiny bites along napes and necks
Pieces, frayed ends, tatters
Drink up.
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Comments: 3
A very nice poem. I especially like the contrast in the second stanza. Wonderful work with this poem.
👍: 0 ⏩: 1
Thank you once again, and I'm glad you enjoyed it
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