the boys have
all gone; the city lights
swallow, the girl curled
in wine droplets
and drained out— last
supper, last chance.
she has her shoulder-
blades bare, she is waiting
we are all
waiting—
where are the boys
with the black smiles
ready to devour my face;
i have reflections
in the alcohol glass, this
is modernity: i and i and i
again, eternal and gloaming
and waiting alone.
poem: repressions
the last pavilion 
The emotions that oozed out from your words made it an elevating experience for me as a reader. Thank you so much for sharing such a delightful post! According to your convenience please do read some of my writings would love to know what you think about.
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Thank you so much! I think I have too many emotions shoved inside me — as do we all, really — so at least poetry is something of an outlet. And sure, I’d love to check out your work sometime!
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Yes i can relate to that, poetry is not a method to impress but perhaps an outlet to express. Thank you for respecting my request, please feel free to read my writings whenever you can/feel like! 🙂
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