Alcoholics Anonymous


She smelled of rain poignant, yet
enchanting.
Her eyes sparkled dull shades of
brown
as the leaves do when
trickling their way down
off of the
trees foreshadowing the
awoken slumber of fall.
Her lips were painted onto her
with water colors,
while her cheeks smiled bright
shades of pink.
Her smile emitted soft
shadows of white among a
black canvas.
Her hands were as rigid
as the very clay she
was sculpted from.
Her fingers traced
zigzagged silk lines
across vertical
pathways.
Her heart is cherry wine,
I am the smoker.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems


Share This Poem