Moon song
Dragging on your hump that night
That kiss, the ingenue, which trembled
By a swamp, nay, lake of exploration.
In red haze, white spirits heard her
Limpid cries.
How, hands pressed into the ground
She was mesmerized by
His smell, voice, the urging to
"Drink, baby, drink".
The mist, which woke on leaves
Caressed the sleepy daffodils,
Flowed with his whisper,
"Kisses are for children",
As his tongue crept along her back.
The raw pain of the unknown.
Her will lay violated like an empty seashell.
Next hollow day she prayes for love.
On the bus, walking up the stairs,
Fixing him lunch, where is the knife?
Is this his room?
An ashtray with an anchor,
Two cigarette butts suffocating
in its sea of cold marble.
Four bronzed, muscled arms in an embrace.
Two unshaved chins,
Six eyes,
In two -- the child dies.
The moon, her Mona Lisa, the silent reaper of her cries.
Свидетельство о публикации №105042600628