A poem by moi ~ Ash Blonde

Ash blonde.
Skin like balm.
I run my hand over her palm.
It soothes.

It heals.
Ash blonde.
Like a bandage.
Wrap over me my plaster.

My antiseptic.
This world is slowing.
Feeling very calando.
I’ll still buy the gig tickets?

Even if you’re not a fan though.
Sorry I’ve lost interest my dearest ash blonde.
My plaster has got dirty now.
I need a fresh one to grow fond.
Right now a new one.
Before infection.
Before detection.
I never could stand rejection.
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This is really good.