I dreamt of you, again. It’s been years, but in my sleep I
recalled every feature of your fine pale face, and the guttural tone
of your voice. I could smell you;
I held my breath against the scent of menthol ciggies and
gin and tonic sticking to your saliva.
I spent the night with your phantom
banging around inside my head. Now that I’m awake, I
convince myself all over that I hate your pretty fucking being,
because you’re interesting to look at, vivid red like a piece of exotic fruit.
I want to split you open and see your insides, have a taste of your heart. I
want to do this even knowing the stingy itch of your spines.
© 2019 Kindra M. Austin
The imagery in your poem is spectacular!
Your heart paints the emotions well expressed.
Miss you Kindra, hope all is well with you. 🙂
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Wow… the stingy itch of your spines… awesome.
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Thank you! ❤ I hope you're well. 🙂
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🤓 I am very good, happy to be back here and hope you are well too!🤓
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Excellent, I’m happy to hear that! I’m doing, ya know? Pretty good. 🙂
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Awesome sauce
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❤
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🤓
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