poetry

Treasure Chest

By Amy Thomson

Mind control,
head too full,
start to leak,
though I’m not weak.
Pour through lips,
first little sips,
then waves storm out,
rosebud pout,
dancing along your eardrums.
Peeling thumbs
kills the hums
drumming on my skull.
You pull me in,
your skin a sin,
your chest a treasure,
such pleasure I find
in your heartbeat.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s