not nessicerily a straight forward poem.


Taste

I have a confession.
I've got a secret.
Shhh.
A cursive stained memory
Written in blood red ink.
The confession
My secret obsession-
I call it my wine
With the color so rich.
With the taste so...

Forbidden.

Banned.

-My prohibited pleasure.

guess?




Poetry by Nora
Read 899 times
Written on 2006-08-22 at 10:41

Tags Wine  Blood  Taste 

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