Slingshot
it pulls back, tight,
a finger falls away
gone
flung through the air
till it hits
and falls
a heavy stone sunk at the bottom of my stomach
but you’ve left the slingshot on the bench outside
and I don’t know how to leave you on that bed
a cold hand still holds my heart
instead, you’ll stay
a heavy stone sunk in my stomach
I’ll never leave you behind
I swear
I’ll take you everywhere
b...
Wednesday 9th January 2019 9:10 pm
Recent Comments
Stephen Gospage on The Bitter Cup
10 minutes ago
R A Porter on Goodbye, America
1 hour ago
Hélène on Instructions For Bedtime
1 hour ago
Hélène on The Bitter Cup
1 hour ago
Holden Moncrieff on Trees.
1 hour ago
Hélène on Favorite Poet
1 hour ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on 'Goodnight'
1 hour ago
Graham Sherwood on Angry Man
3 hours ago
Auracle on Write Out Loud looks back … at the early days of lockdown. How did poets cope?
3 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Angry Man
4 hours ago