Almost didn't do a poem for today. My mind hasn't been cooperating so this isn't my best work. And it's untitled.
Fractured reality at the bottom
of a glass. Her crimson lips
tasted of Hell.
And still she felt like home.
Sad notes of a saxophone
tangled with the smoke in the air.
She slid off the stool, kissed
my neck and whispered
“I need you.”
Before the sun came up,
she slipped out the door.
And my neck still burned
from the Devil’s kiss.
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