where I suffer from the strength of your beauty
shells of my forgotten past
leering from the highway's forest pockets
and underscored embers in lime
stunned in your mercury evening
fountain's birth where I address the object
slave to your dewstruck inward eyes
like the sun thinking
the sheath of a reluctant moon
should be his habitat
for switching earthly places
her green and grey lacework of days
on the vines of a grid
quaking.
No comments:
Post a Comment