words melted like butter
burn the tongue, her hand on your shoulder
on a night from which every dream has been wrung
I looked for your face but it was wrong,
wrong for me to come here
with my snakes
the sad mistakes truth makes.
posted for real toads
Note: This is a triquain, (a seven line poem with syllables of 3-6-9-12-9-6-3) to which I have arbitrarily added a final couplet (3-6.)
Optional Musical Accompaniment
Image: author and title unknown, fair use via the internet.
No copyright infringement intended.