it will not cook.
moist-heat with empty head.
it just sits and waits
(time it's own in burgundy).
it has no view
the comming years now gone.
once pencil-sharp
in a sea of kelp untouched,
where marriage was an ordinary thing
came sting of tail to terrify
from half-way house
to where the lungs are green.
to sing their own appraise
with perfect hooves, a perfect spine
each moulded from the vine
of toothless crotch
neatly packed in a box of yellow eyes.
they bear no fruit,
these eyes of candid cutlery.
they will not sing
through mouth of christ's own verse.
they just sit and wait
(time it's own in burgandy)
where waits the wounds
of mother's breasts as naked
as her milk upon my chin.
I am yours of love personified.
and you my love,
no ordinary thing.
-
Author:
Melvin James (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: July 7th, 2024 04:07
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 11
- Users favorite of this poem: Teddy.15
Offline)
Comments2
And you my love, a superb poet. 🌹
a comment to brighten my day...
and all the days that follow.
thank you Teddy.
Superb writing, my friend.
thank you Thomas
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