She flicks a fanned image of Catalan art
under the parasol with a twitching...
The night is skintight and my tongue is dry
because of missing words and closed lips...
I realized, that poetry
is not my mother-tongue...
She skins my pride,
I bruise her feelings...
NAME: Skyclad at Midnight AKA Karla B
DATE OF BIRTH: (poetic license to be quiet...
A girls heart is not a thing
you bet on with your friend...
If I can be that tattoo on your
chest carrying me so close to...
When you close the doors
and open the windows, there are...
I wrote a song upon a tree
that whispered in the night...
I enjoy the comforts of my writing style-
mixing flavored koolaide to exasperate...
Poetry is a song, a gentle heartbeat.
A stroll in summer along the beach...
I place you on my lips
ever so gently...