People once believed
In the roses and the blues
Burning all to cash
About the Creator
Matthew Daniels
Merry meet!
I'm here to explore the natures of stories and the people who tell them.
My latest book is Interstitches: Worlds Sewn Together. Check it out: https://www.engenbooks.com/product-page/interstitches-worlds-sewn-together
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His Haibun
He does not like poetry; I write it anyway and do not tell him. It's true his face is not a poet's face. It is round and open, youthful; too apt to be compared to the sun. His nose is neat. It is impossible to imagine him smoking a cigarette, terse, full of cheekbones and tension. His warmth burns my fingertips. I am here for his fascinating body, the haphazard freckles I touch one by one; he is here for my eyes, just my eyes. A sunbeam sneaks through the curtains and pierces us both, sizzling the spices of his skin. I inhale and wrap myself in him. He kisses my eyes.
By TheSpinstress6 days ago in Poets
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