Poetry, sunday whirl, wordle


the smell of a trick pawed at the tip of my tongue
brazen shape with a shine outlawed only in heaven

it was my only wish the exhilarating taste of a wayward whisper
a five point star packed with swift wings slicing through silence

the tight lipped pack unlocks a string of endless startling smiles
spare the flinch of motion this hand proclaims a purpose

queen’s cards red paint white roses whim
flattering five staring back the pet tiger growled

sunday whirl wordle no 50