Monday, 16 January 2017


Frozen images, in my iris,
Blow me off like you ISIS,
French fries, a French kiss,
Your main dish, I love this.

Boil my blood in your kettle,
Let's get it to flood the metal,
When the heat begins to settle,
I'll lick the depth of your petal.

Now, hands on the window pane,
Pleasure- It starts with some pain,
Only I, hold the keys to the chain, 
Skin squeaking glass, love in rain. 

"Squeaking Glass"
Drew Poetry
~Andy Mwalasha

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