Cold Is the Gush
With downpour hued in starlit gray,
And fallen eyes are interlocked
In drizzles where the torrent bites
Till candles wane on a fabric soiled
Her boudoir cluttered by the wind,
Sighing a pitter-patter scream
And on a chair, her drooped spine curves,
Receding off so constantly
Limbs tip tap rhythm on the floor;
Alone, betrothed to lonely sheets
How cold the gush in Summer's flight.
Rain, Rain, Rain Contest of Francine Roberts
by nette onclaud
5/25/2013
Copyright © Nette Onclaud | Year Posted 2013
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