She was made of men.
She had consumed something
like one-twenty - don't worry. Only their souls,
which they didn't seem to miss. Her name
was Ailee. The "l" was silent. Mostly, so
was she. People always ask,
"What was she wearing?"
Today she was wearing flats.
She pretty much always was,
until she got back to her flat
and kicked them off. Her hair
was dyed its natural color, her
eyes were eternally hard with shine.
Her intent was on her next target's
soul.
Eventually, she will get round
to mine.
A Pocketful of Poesy was and is again a Poem-a-Day(-on-Average) Blog! For 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, and now for 2017 and going forward, you may expect to see 365 poems every year, 366 for leap years.
but aren't they all random?
Wednesday, February 03, 2021
the soul taster
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2 comments:
Male poets be like.
Thanks, Mel.
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