Margot Smith


Lying on the floor
my hands are shaking.
Is it lust, greed, or gluttony
to want more of this aching?
The tiles underneath me
are dirty ice.
I hear my heart beat
like it desperately wants this story told.

THUMPthumpTHUMPthumpTHUMPthumpthumpt humpTHUMP

Blood pounds.
Off beat and off key.
Not quite making it to my fingers.
A vessel burst in my eye, lost my glasses, can't see.
Lying here, pathetic, but the desire lingers.
A mess on the floor.
This isn't pretty.

Poem Submitted: Monday, June 28, 2010

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