A drop of sweat, a trail of spit
In candle’s light caress: that corporeal mess
Amidst bandages, neatly folded and
Lovingly perfumed and anointed.
In fresh turned earth the bed is made
And, once laid, the sweetest scent
(like dead daisies) issues forth
From that rocky soil, enticing
The beasts of the earth to come,
To feast.
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Author:
Fränz Müller (
Offline) - Published: September 16th, 2025 18:01
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 8
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments2
I can not put my finger on what specifically enthralls me about this poem but something does and will not let go. I'm going with my gut that is the core of poetry for me and it gets a fave
A very impressive analysis Soman.
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