Lee Steel Poems

Ta choix de me gommer
De ton histore écrite
Par les phobias, les obsessions et le mécontentement
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You can see
You’re big to me
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A man stands apart
He leads his own life
For himself and for the father above
Been his own person since he was young
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Pain is blood red.
It smells like a fridge of sad roses.
It tastes like thorns.
It sounds like fingernails running down a chalkboard.
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Joy is bright blue, a kind of turquoise.
She smellt like a million lily bouquets.
Tasted of frosted cinnamon rolls.
To be with her was the A string on a fine violin.
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He is every color but is not a rainbow.
It smells like fresh rain on the gray pavement.
It tastes like cinnamon apple pie with sugar on top.
It sounds like a children's choir in a seashell.
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