He’s the thorn and I am the rose.
Black lips with candle drips,
waxy fire melting heart’s together.
Vintage paper scattered the room,
ink smeared across the wall’s,
a poet fell in love.
Books torn, yellowed, and burned
like her heart it turned into
unspoken word’s.
A love affair with a poet,
is like a spoiled child
crying for attention,
the poetry gets gritty
and she smuged her love
all over the place.
You can see it on her face,
a poet fell in love.
© 2018 By Amanda D Shelton
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