He Hurts Poem by Erika Conti
He Hurts
Aesthetically perfect
Lustfully alive-
joyfully wild
he smells like wet wood
he looks like autumn
He hurts.
His eyes are dry
and his heart emptyMy best friend we'll
hold our hands forever-
wipes my tears away my lover_
while we walk under
these trees_
Will I be your
precious little girl
until the last day?
Saturday, March 3, 2007
Topic(s) of this poem: autumn
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8/28/2026 3:17:40 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
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