Poem Hunter
FJ ( / )


I’m tangled in clichés,
Chasing me down corridors
With bony white fingers,
Axes, knives, arrows and bows,
A breathless hush in the close,
And rose petals
And unopened valentines cards
With shiny wrappers.
Then I think about you
Original and new,
But nothing comes.

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Comments (1)

For 'Bony white' and 'rose petals' 'A fine short poem' would be a platitude