Clouds lick my skin
with their wet tongues
of raindrops,
and I watch pages of my book
transform into sinking boats
of black-on-white paper.

They say the air is the freshest
after the storm,
but I don’t need a reason
to be calm,
unless I’m around you –
a gambler of life.
Like a cowboy,
who walks on dust
without leaving footprints.

I have such an urge
to spring-clean my mind,
to get rid of all the cobwebs,
forgetting about

The spilled milk.
The soiled soul.
And the reason,
why I still write
with the scent of you
on my skin.

I lick raindrops
off my bottom lip,
as if you were wiping your kisses off
and only then I realise –

– Chatty Owl –

View original post

This entry was posted in Uncategorized on by .

About Jonathan Caswell

Mr. Caswell has been composing poetry at least since High School. He has been on WORD PRESS for ten years and contributes to two other blogs beside this one. This blog has a Christian emphasis but all bloggers are welcome. Mr. Caswell chooses to---with permission--re[post material of interest

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.