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.
I really dig this.
ReplyDeleteWonderful short poem.
ReplyDeleteMoving... I'm at a loss of how you poets do what you do, it is so abstract for me.
ReplyDeleteWhat a great poem, Bean!
ReplyDelete