Sweet Weapons
Sour
A night out
breeding insults and injuries
but the spawn is so
nauseating
Scraping pink porcelain
my dinner plates sing
a mellow tune to
the beat of something
Not fond of
such sour nights at home
A haunted head
and a bed you bought
are here keeping me warm
A night out
drinking to leave the cold
at home
but the brew is so...
I’m digging
rusty spade and shovel
to fill a lined pine box
to the brim
with you.
From Letras Mania