Comfort
Random hands don’t comfort anymore
My own hands don’t either
Through all the weathers
Your cold hands glues to my torn down body
When you touch me
Your cold hands give me chills…
Your smooth talks litters, blood into my every vein
Am still enjoying the lust
For my head is filled with endless tears
Your ambidextrous hands
Write the pure sense
Of my comfort.
Copyright © Khomotso Sereo | Year Posted 2016
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment