Poetica 13

It’s misty, my eyes are not teary, just signs of rain.
I’m scorched and hard, burning with desire to be your earth.
You’re feisty, your eyes are fiery, justify the pain.
No longer a nesting bird, I’m flowing to your hearth.
We’re misty, we get all “teary”, our garments are slain.
We’re in the yard, I’m speaking my worth.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s