Promises: A Poem

Like smoke on the horizon
Like ash at my feet
Like grey soot and bony plants
I am afraid.

Like cryptic messages passed from hand to hand
Like acrid liquor in my throat
Like heat in my belly, growing
I am afraid.

Succulent fruit, lush and sweet
Are your promises.

Like smoke in my mouth
Like ash in my hands
Like grey eyes and bony limbs
I am afraid
Of your promises.


Skin Tone Delectable-Decadence

First image: South Downs Winter #1 by Christopher Knox. Second image: Skin Tone by Miss Hush (tumblr).