Vanilla Planifolia
Little yellow bottle,
Yield to me your fumes,
Speak of my triumphs,
My failures,
My joy,
My sorrow.
Speak of the man
I once hoped to woo;
Speak of sleepless nights
Spent buried under a million quilts,
My face shoved into
A pillow spritzed
With the soft scent of your perfume.
Speak of me,
Of my wrists and my chest,
Of my hair and my thighs.
Speak of every goddamned thing
I did to hide myself
When vanilla just made me
Into a scented whore.
Copyright © Carissa Marie | Year Posted 2017
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment