Poetry | Stories | Photography
A clean prison cell with a television, a bed, and the essentials.
Within the four walls, she waits for innocence to mean something.
When they decided “not guilty”, too much time had passed.
Her husband moved on, and she lost all the possessions she loved.
She leaves alone. Now free.
swept away from there
last seen running in a cloak
shadows and the sea
the lighthouse keeper worries
a vision of innocence
Rosy red lips,
supple sweet hips.
A mind like a whip
giving you the lip.
Pride and Prejudice vibes,
taking all of those jibes.
Pale innocence is a lure,
a desire for what is pure.
Mazarine eyes of light,
dancing into the night.
A chance to ask her for more,
relieved you don’t see the door.
The sea calls you both away,
to say what you want to say.
Your innocence,
writing between the
lines of your poetry.
Between the lines,
all the novels are about love,
romanticising complexities.
You’re so young,
so full of windswept lovers;
in time, your words will change.
He reads your words,
waiting for the change,
not too soon.
C & K 