Posing Questions

It bewilders me, when 
I follow you. Why the savaged 
retribution starts for a 
separate mouth? 

I may become little 
demanding, sending you a 
death watch for tender memories. 
Why did we meet for different truths, 
to fork out, not pardoned 
by anchorage of our spriritual pursuits? 

At early dawn, a sad 
cuckoo gives a long, lingering call; 
desperately evoking the 
soft bleeds of beautiful past. 

Your profile was very 
sharp, aquiline instinct, to 
smell a lover. 

October is here. Intuition 
develops a sixth sense. 
You don't want to leave the nest.