Where Wingless Angels Go
My fourth!
And my tongue had just orbited,
around the pleats of my lips
to my marinated fingertip;
it’s Smirnoff!
Then my spy-eyes spotted a thief,
who stole this smile,
an angel without wings
in heaven of drunken me.
My last.
We left.
poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
Added by Poetry Lover
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