DG (9/19/1963 / )

Glass Bombs.............Oe

WHEN the flies hang their
hats, this love is dead.
WHEN a stitch is torned
out, this love is dead.
WHEN we blind fold our
words, this love is dead.
WHEN you become a stranger,
this love is dead.

User Rating: 5,0 / 5 ( 1 votes ) 2

Comments (2)

'Blindfold our words': powerful and fresh.
Dear David, I marvel at this type of poem.Full effect! Pulls you in. Excellent! ......Where can we go now!