For every honey drenched word
from the bees lips to
my own knobby knees
 
you called them sharp
how they were beautiful for the weight they will not carry
and the scars they still can’t shed
 
Im shed of you
my outer most layer
fallen like nylon about my ankles so I’m
 
light through the kitchen window
steam of warm regret
the moon’s, and never so near as when you first said my name
 
But tell me, when will you be the fullest?

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Robert L. Martin
over 3 years

It sure does make it full. It is my silent therapist.

Robert L. Martin
over 3 years

When you wish for it to be the fullest. It can be whatever you want it to be. Very nice poem.

Berlinn Berlin
Berlinn Berlin
over 3 years

Thank you, writing makes it full, no?

Sarah Jane Danielsson
over 3 years

this is lovely :)

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