Originally posted by abigailroseRemarkable poem. 🙂
The Beach House
So many summers left stained
at the edge of that kitchen knife.
Mother; or a figure that cast a
motherly shadow
standing placid at the bank
of an elongated silver sink tub.
Her watered-down self-
in control-
reflects a woman
stained upon that house.
And we, like school fish,
swimming in her would-be dishwater,
rest waist ...[text shortened]... beneath the warm sky,
not daring to breathe
for fear of losing the ability.
-Abigail Rose
Originally posted by SunburntNo, no, no, you don't understand. It's because I'm swamped with work
I thought you were SWAMPED at work? You are so full of BLEEP! 😛
that I spend time here, getting all the more swamped. How can any
sane man stay away from a place where beautiful people such as yourself
hang out? 😉😀
That would be madness!
Originally posted by abigailroseThis is strong and intrusive. seamy and beautiful. If my ego wasn't the size
The Beach House
So many summers left stained
at the edge of that kitchen knife.
Mother; or a figure that cast a
motherly shadow
standing placid at the bank
of an elongated silver sink tub.
Her watered-down self-
in control-
reflects a woman
stained upon that house.
And we, like school fish,
swimming in her would-be dishwater,
rest waist ...[text shortened]... beneath the warm sky,
not daring to breathe
for fear of losing the ability.
-Abigail Rose
it is, I'd be seriously disturbed at the competition. 🙂
Please don't stop writing.