VII.

312 44 21

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.


Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.


A mist lingers still
in this mind of mine;
in this sear shrubbery,
where blossom'd florets
of thoughts once so rosily.


In mother tongue wrote
fingertips mine
of seas and peonies,
which enfolded me
upon every rain;


And with a yowl cruelly,
the mist usurped me,
shunn'd the sweetness of fervor,
kiss'd my sea-soaked eyelids
where he saw the stars gleam.


I longed for a pit
surging with the sunless sea.
You-the mist sempiternal,
at last, soften my sorrow,
let me rest with peonies.


Silencing my singing voice,
he'd stripped me bare-
all skin, skin, and skin
until poetry came to light
and he fed me fruit.


I wrote, and I write on
not out of love,
but of intimacy
unspoken, aflame
like our wine cheeks.


Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
FORLORN NIGHTS OF SPRINGRead this story for FREE!