Sweet lemon oil draws out
My summer longing
Soul’s desire.
The sunly drop of fruit
Encapsulates my senses;
Fuses with my skin.
Every pocket and pore
Bursts with golden light.
Every magma dew drop inflicts
The most sweet
Hot
Sting.
My wolf torn teeth:
Caked with amber bisque
Flesh.
Every laceration:
Spritzes my bulging eyes
With the emotion
My feast
Felt
While connected
To the world.
The breath of life
Pelts my nerves
With every last swallow.
It heights my senses.
I should be a wounded doe
Whose skin had been
Peeled clear off.
The body burning
With every cold blow
Of a winter wind.
About the Creator
Madison Sheard
Aspiring poet highlighting the little things in life ✨
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Tin Umbrellas
This morning, I had to retire yet another tin umbrella. I watched the artisan toss it in their melting pot before handing me a new. For the first time, I gave them a tip out of pity: a quarter. Confused, they looked at me with an odd expression before throwing it into their melting pot.
By Madison Sheard4 years ago in Poets
Should We Not Try to Get Too Political?
Here's something you often hear people say, "I try not to get too political." I understand the sentiment and I sympathize with it... while at the same exact time, I completely disagree with the notion. Whether it's referring to social media or wherever, it's kind of unavoidable. You can attempt to sidestep it, not engage, leave the less important things for actual politicians to discuss... you can want it to not take over your life, your conversations, your relationships, and that makes perfect sense.
By Stephen Kramer Avitabile6 days ago in Writers
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