Speaking Braille.
I feelCold fingers fiddling with
Silver buttons
Crisp
Fumbling over glass bottles
Of chocolate liquer, you said
You would never touch
But your throat welcomed openly
And you tasted like
Sweet apples and
Alcohol
Red-cheeked, close-eyed
Tangled by your need
for me
Drowning absently in
pools of thick, too-sweet drink,
Blinded and feeling your way with
fingers on
silver buttons, like
primitive braille
So I spoke in dots:
and I said "Hello, world,
we are
alone."
Poetry by Inked.
Read 1107 times
Written on 2006-04-07 at 17:20
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