On our park bench,
we reserve our legs
for warming;
in the winter months,
we are moths.
We knit stories
and wear them
for scarves, covering
our pale impetuous lips
when we speak.
Sparks in the air
become our lisps
as the seams of
our waists ravel- old yarn
with a taste of dew-
as moths, our
impervious mouths;
they are similes.












Devious Comments
Comments
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| MIMESIS |
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i am trying to believe
Also, fifth stanza reads a bit off to me, but it's probably only me. I think it may be your use of "air" so close together that makes it read a bit funny.
Other than that, bravo. I dig it. You ended it wonderfully.
i'm glad you enjoyed it (despite its flaws and grammatical errors), and i very much appreciate your input.
It flows even better now.
I love the metaphors and similes, as you quote in your poem.
Lucky you for getting a daily deviation! (I can wish hehe)
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Every action was well-rehearsed...
ImmaBack!
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