Poetry Quote #6655117
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in a chance meeting with the lips that were the chaperone of

in a chance meeting with the lips that were
the chaperone of your cotton mouth,
i kindled a spark on the tip of my tongue
with the sole intent of lighting the cotton;
burning it with incendiary agility,
that guides towards your clouded lungs. 

i never fathomed your psyche;
and as it burned, it still refused
to release you—clear as glass—
to cry for mercy with the truth,
instead preferring to asphyxiate
in an obscurity that won’t dispel.

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6 Wittians like this

ImmaBeWittyseafoam*celestialerror*Serotoninbreezy_macjahan

wearestarstuff

posted March 1, 2013 at 7:39am UTC tagged with poetry, poems

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