Prose poems ❧

Image: © Lara Lambelet

Author: Lara Lambelet

Her scent

My senses covet the scent of her breasts.

They are now faintly dampened by my tears.

A hindrance to my unwholesome desire, the pungent wreath tantalizes my soul.

 

Obedient

People are sad in the metro.

Tinted in blue, white, sold in lots.

Vague and wandering looks;

don’t predict anything good.

Words bang and choke behind the fabric.

This is the new gregarious instinct; a muzzle for the individual.

It veils the softness of a smile brought to a child;

disarmed in the masked procession of obedient beings.

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