Smell of soil one Friday evening Seem to be in great distress for smoking Several sticks of Dunhill International Lights.
There’s soil between my swift fingers, Soil inserted in my nails, Disgusted As I am, I rinsed it with boiling water Only to shout for help a second after, bear The pain of swollen skin and Throbbing flesh one Saturday morning.
I buried it here, but why can’t I find it? I can remember burying it here, years ago.
Eaten by the warm earth. Where is it? Where was it? Where will it be? It can’t fade, it’s buried. Such a precious Thing to waste won’t decay with a corpse.
I won’t allow it to decay. Memories and a love lost Are two things you should never let go.
Living in the past, recovering feelings. Only to find earthworms and maggots Feasting upon what I treasured the most.
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About emanilapoetry emanilapoetry formally opened on 19 June 2005 and is an online community of more than 400 writers and poets from various countries. As at 28 Sept 2007, this site has more 6,862 poem entries in archives.
