her kisses
felt like
riding in a hearse
with the windows
down
on a warm
autumn afternoon
where the leaves
have fallen
and
the trees look
strangely like
the varicose hands
of the dead man
in the box
in the back
there is
a bitterness
in holding her
like tea
left in the sun to brew
for too long
on a boiling
summer day
that no matter
how much sugar you add
the acrid taste
clings
long after
the ice has melted
to leave a puddle
of memory
on the table
Mike's Manic Word Depot 
Oh my…..
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Hoping that is a good oh my and not, he’s finally lost it.
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🙂 you could not write anything where I felt you finally lost it….the deeper you go it seems you found it, sometimes achingly beautiful other times hard to look at but always found not lost.
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thank you my friend
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💚🖤
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