Sad Backs


Denoting no sex really,
Only slopes
Set a certain way,
Weary angles to measure
By consoling hands
That vanish
When touch is sensed
By this xylophone
Of flesh
In Thinker pose
Of blood, cells, muscles,
This vessel ebbing
Life's tides
Between shoulders,

Wings unseen



  
Copyright © 1999 – 2024 Juked