20 Lines A Day

A Community of Writers and Photographers

Partial prints


It was a letter written of love,

Not to be misconstrued of anything more or less than a poignant goodbye.

The dark ink incontinent,

Like a child sleeping sound.

Ink drooled.

Wet, and leaving behind one partial print.

A keepsake, an ornament to place next to your pillow as you sleep.

With one slow flick of my tongue,

Our fate was sealed.

We will never be justly blended,

Or paint each other in soft acrylic hues.

The smell of paper,

As it falls slowly into a slivered space.

As my forest burns a thousand words.

No longer left bottled.

Tiny prisms that leave behind ruined tomorrows.

With my signature godless and grey.

A postage due,

I can no longer afford.

 I finger this forgotten letter.

Now dressed in dust, crumbs and

What I once viewed as loss.

About these ads

Author: The Laundry Maid

I love words. I like the way they sound rolling off my tongue. I enjoy playing around with them like a small girl with her dolls. I write to learn, and I write to feel.

2 thoughts on “Partial prints

Write. Talk. Tell me everything.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 3,178 other followers

%d bloggers like this: