Nola_hall

I creeped through the doorway;

Looking over Mom’s shoulder to find my

Daily dose of everyone's obituary.

Each vine of life is

Frail and cradled by the lava of metal

Red is the color I lack.

It's rumored to bleed--but I never saw it this month

or the last.... few (+2 years) times

I've been sick for too long,

lacking something that will give "a women her purpose".

Songs that flutter a relieved life.

Useless to many since of the questions,

And furrowed brows for

Never did they wonder

Till now.

The stack is too tall

But the mound

Of boards

Of plush

Of change

Can’t touch

The ground 

Without withering

That… aroma!

It envelopes the summer breeze with the purity of ripe, succulent pineapple. But… not just pineapple chunks? Pineapple sorbet, with a tinge of six-minute-old waffle cone.

I find myself in the rocks crushing the waves,

Through the sheets that cover my lips with a foam

That bubbles at the peach coast for us to see-

But never to touch.