Tobacco-stained fingers

Tobacco-stained fingers found piano keys,
the melody started, and played a few bars,
then came the graveyard voice, sounding of Bourbon
and stale cigarettes, a razor blade thrown in for good
measure, but the song that he sang touched deep
in our souls, thrilling us measure for measure.


Please Check out my Patreon and contribute should you wish to.
Always remember Poetry isn’t a Choice.

Also, I’m still working on my Passion Project, my Poetry collection, In Media Rêves. Check out my GoFundMe and contribute if you would like.


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