In Quicksands

You wouldn't know,
what you didn't want to,
after a sweet osculation
of a cleaver.

There was blood
on grass, after witnessing
the afterlife of a future god.
The goddess still weeps.

A black moon hovers
in blue sky. Was there a
polite embrace after
a violent actuality?

Delicately you hold
back your tears. The most
important exit was to
remain reticent.

Unsaid ache was the
greatest bliss.