Poetry
I Leave the Evidence Around Because I Want You to Know

Sulk Suck Stick Prick
Your finger Nothing happens
Finger blue from bad circulation It’s as if my body got lazy Blood too slow to run right
Ash Trash Treasure
You have a van full of it You’re hiding in it right now
Pluck My feathers from my boiled skin
It struck Me this morning that Bed always seems better again
Slick Slit
I do it for attention But you’re not even here So what sense does that make?
© Liv Pasquarelli 2021