Untitled
She, the hair-trigger
smoted and pregnant
with retort.
No matter the time
the dark lumbers behind her,
loyal & lovelorn.
Bed mates, companions,
"One cannot see without the other,
nor would they desire to."
How the night, sticky in its pain,
holds them to its chest.
*
Written over the past week.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
4 comments:
I really dig this.
Wonderful short poem.
Moving... I'm at a loss of how you poets do what you do, it is so abstract for me.
What a great poem, Bean!
Post a Comment