Image borrowed from BingIn staccato light
that the sun throws
through the blinds
I face your music
Your voice ricochets
in accusation's gloom
unspoken words form
a conga line from
you to me.
Like a twisting black mamba
we dance our mambo
one foot out
and then the other.
Karen S
Posted over on her site Creative Kick
Listed as #104 over on Magpie Tales 48
1 comment:
Glad you liked my poem.
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