Being Mislied

They met at the corner of Corrupt&Vile
Underneath his breath he said, " l like your style."
Holding up a mirror to his face she reflected with her smile,
I am not who or what you think I am
Neither am I perhaps his lips replied
It doesn't matter if each of us have lied.



Poetry by Chaucer Whethers
Read 258 times
Written on 2022-11-27 at 23:43

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