Red Wine

Marysa Writes

I’ve been forced to stay a while in this moment;
between the severed trees
and broken bones
in the summer blood moon’s smile.
Your fingers dance
in the boiling wine
from yesterday’s leftovers
and drip their poison
onto undeserving lips,
cracked and longing for relief
as I lap at the sweet remains.


Check out my book, The Four Stages of Poetry, available on amazon!

View original post

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