Whisperings

On gossamer lips
Wisped coppery tendrils
Showering sparks
Riding evening breezes
That radiate off my
Eyelashes in papery
Wet slivers
Sticking only when
Your song of ill-boding
Is breathed over me
It's primitive amity
Contused and crusted
On baneful syllables
In sweet consummation
Where at last I see the
Crumbling bouquet
That’s falls
Onto your pages

Reviews

[Whales]

I started to cry.

[J]

yikes, d. this is beautifully wrought with pretty words ... but when placed side by side and in this particular order, my spine shivers and hair at the nape of my neck speaks.

raw and hurting this is ..... and creatively original. sadly well done.