the case of the ringed middle finger presented to a concerned poet at 2-o’clock-AM

My muse haunted me in the deepest dark.

Her body was coiled up under the sheets; blistered skin was concealed from my grasp.

I reached out for her hand. It carried memories of golden whip and sand cages. The vein was inscribed in red ink.

I blinked back the cold.

–Armineonila M.

oOo

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

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 )

w

Connecting to %s