We soldiered on,in cropped tops and torn jeans,
wielding soggy cigarettes
and shooting thin wisps of smoke in the dark.
Exposed are the small of our backs,
the length of our arms,
the sides of our breasts
to the passionate lover that is the night.
The rain is kissing and biting,fast and hard
while the cold leave sweet painful lashes
on our bare pale skin.
They do not bother us anymore,
we are used to the endless list of lovers
who has made their mark on our skin
but are gone before they could even fade.
There is nothing to do except bow our heads
and shake them off hoping that our mascara won’t smear.
By crazycutlady
Labels: cool, cope, deep, harmony, lost, meaning, metaphor, new, pathos, philosophy, poem, poems, poetry, reflection
