Echos of Night

Echos of Night By Rose Bence Your voice is like poetry dripping with molasses. Like standing at the cusp of an Irish sea cliff, bungee cord crisscrossed about my waist. Do I tremble at the cold? The fear? Or is it something more… ? Are you something more; more than the whispers of a passing…

H-O-M-E

Your arms are the arms of the letter “H” as you wrap tightly about my waist, kissing my ear as I say “O.”

Chapter One

My bare feet softly tread the concrete/ My too-long jeans scrape along…

Untitled

Photo by Kaique Rocha from Pexels

Cigarettes

Cigarettes By Rose Bence   My friend likes the smell of cigarettes The nicotine teases her nose The burning ends of people’s regrets   As we watch the spinning of roulettes Smoke, intertwining into clothes My friend likes the smell of cigarettes   The men sitting there, sweats Over and over complaining of their woes…

Closure

Closure By Rose Bence   You Burned me and carved your initials Into my poetry And the ashes are Still swirling years later   My pen chases echoes of hashtags and art Raging and still not burning out I’m still waiting for the flame from matchstick to finger But nothing is catching   My ink…

My Lover Wind

  My Lover Wind By Rose Bence As sunlight trickles And warms my skin I close my eyes And feel the wind As it tickles and brushes Teasing my skin It sighs and it whispers “If only, I wish.” It caresses, it traces The curves of my hips It breathes as it licks Teasing my…