He reached the road’s end. /
He stepped into the unknown. /
The first fright was love.
by David E. Booker
Stolen flowers; stolen moments
Of these things I am a proponent.
Human heart upon a chair,
Fitting complement to your candy ’wear.
Office supplies, engraved utensils;
Box of dead chocolate, bundle of thistles.
Your preserved nipple tattooed o’er my heart.
It’s not a good one, but it’s a start.
So now I sit and wait, a zombie for your love
As I pluck the feathers of a very disgruntled dove.