these unspoken words
collected, categorized
brew like a beast beneath my skin
stilled, stuck
smoulder on my tongue
waiting for hints
of neutral ground to land
I stare at moon shadows
veining across porcelain
midnight morphs to another day
as I pray for humanity
For Quadrille Monday. 44 words, sans title. Must contain the word “hint”.
You can join in at dVerse Poets Pub. It is my pleasure to be your host today.
mishunderstood 