stale as dog's rest
smoke still lingering on fingers
hazy freckles muting a moon
- shine
on ancient knuckles
pressed, swept branches
my nails as leaves
blown; hushed by you, wind
breathless -
a crooked beetle
a will of wings to atrophy;
callously saunters
oh, wind come swiftly
shrill and uncommon
engendering charcoal laughter
or a soundless tome
- tensely
unsubstantiated
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
i wish i was this good at poetry
ReplyDelete