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- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Plastic in winter
Poem Info
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The sun beats down on my skin creating tiny jewls of sweat.
I don't feel the heat, the sun or the sweat.
I don't feel much at all.
The grass is green as emeralds, and the water reflects the deep azure tones of the sky.
I don't see the happy colors.
I don't see much at all.
I am walking plastic.
Detached from the rest of the living world.
To get to my core would require a new heat.
But that summer is far away for I am in the dead of winter.
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