Will

5
(1)
You draw my will out
Through my skin.
It sits,
Dewy opals,
On the curves of my neck
Until you scoop it away
With barely open lips.
TagsFreeform Poetry
Shannon Richards
Shannon lives outside of Cleveland where she homeschools her two children. Since she was young, she has loved running off into the woods to write stories and poems, look for space ships, and dance fairy rings.
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