Poetic Interlude XX

That cruel curl to your lip,
-the edge of your voice-
The rare lack of make-up
Masking your crumpled skin.
Rotting teeth, drowned sinuses,
Stubby thick fingers; crumpled nails:
Fresh blood on ruined wrists.
The wind, she gusts strangely today:
Arguing, as a sign of love,
With familiar strangers, long acquainted.
Memories, foggy or absent, now,
Have dried on cheeks to dusty streams,
Pooling with brackish water.

About Ty DeLyte

Madame DeLyte has suffered a grave disappointment - YET AGAIN - and still believes that freedom, beauty, and truth are what's valuable, rather than vulgar cash. He'd add love to that list - but, well, what can he say about love?
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2 Responses to Poetic Interlude XX

  1. k says:

    Poetry is generally not really my cup of tea, but I genuinely enjoyed these.

  2. Tyler J. Yoder says:

    These were actually mined from the journalling excercise that I’ve been doing for ages now. Perhaps curated is a better choice? Whatevs. Distilling three pages into a matter of lines was an interesting excercise.

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