shortstory
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Wear my poetry.On your skin.Recite parts of me. On your stretch marks.Carry my sensuality.On your tongue.
Speak.
Only about us.
The Queen of the Mountain
They called her the Queen of Virtue
True to her personality, morals and values
Respectful in every walk done in golden shoes
the wind blew through my hair as cars below whizzed by. he held my hand and was looking in the same direction as i, out on the free way, mere feet away rom where we stood.
You're sitting on bricks stacked haphazardly upon one another in the heat of the August sun.
The sickled sling which cast doubts beckons from the blackened light.
An inevitable dream that awakens me abruptly, haunts my ever waking moment.
It was almost a love triangle except it wasn’t. It was just as ridiculous though. Someone had fallen in love with her, but she had already fallen in love with someone else.
