Pedestal

Her pedestal shines gold as thick as bone, though much less would support her step. She stands, posed, watching over every head that gazes upon her curves. I sit with folded arms in the corner, grip my hair, and wonder whether or not she’d want anything to do with me, then see the polishing cloth in my hands.

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2 comments so far

  1. Michelle Johnson on

    Hello Noah~ Nice take on the prompt today. Are you writing flash fiction now instead of poetry? Hope all is well with you. Have a nice day.

  2. noahthegreat on

    I write both, but I only put flash fiction on the internet.

    Thanks for stopping by. 😀


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