Last LemonThe last lemon lollops high up in the tree.
She should catch her hem on it bringing home this fruit.
She gets her way,she gets away, she gets into the loop.
The branches want to sway her...want to hold her hand to suit.
The last lemon with sweet bitterness glows in her hand absolute.
She smiles as she deconstructs all that she is given to perceive.
Sudden seams are sewn not so tight...
She whistles long known shadows to sing...
Inhales her known beliefs.
I'm a lemon
With hems in shadows.
Somehow lemon but not last.
Poetry by jenks
Read 741 times
Written on 2013-11-12 at 19:46
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