High Poem by Adeline Morris
High
That purple silhouette
swirling throughout,
under the eyelids.
A grim, arrow nose,
a pathetic, pouted lip.
We keep staring
at our toes.
And why should
we feel this comfort
asleep in the dirt?
The blades of grass
are beginning
to peer above
our shoes.
I'd like to
finally see
your full mouth.
Friday, December 19, 2008
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4/26/2024 3:10:07 AM # 1.0.0.1119
