Paupers Palace
We would live on a shoestring,share spaghetti strands,
buy red wine
that wilted flowers
yet it made us smile.
That big iron bed
with mattress springs
sprung and an endless dip
that held our beating hearts
so close, your breath became mine.
Hot chocolate mornings
as we warmed our hands
and watched dawn
crisp and fresh
steal across a sleeping city.
We never minded the cold
as heat consumed our souls.
You would wear a smile,
as I burrowed beneath
rough blankets
wearing borrowed socks.
You stole my hat
and twirled an imaginary moustache.
I loved you even through
the grim reality
of our paupers palace.
Poetry by Elle
Read 861 times
Written on 2014-02-02 at 12:46
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)
Print text
sagi |
shells |
Peter J. Kautsky |
|
NicholasG |
Lawrence Beck |
Åsa Andersson |
Texts |
by Elle Latest textsTwo Little CatsHills Not the End Cinders Oh perfect Day |
Increase font
Decrease