Ten days,
the bitter
taste of poison
languidly rested
upon my
swollen tongue;
writhing,
until I spat her out.
She lay there,
legs spread,
naked;
her golden skin
licked wet
by the evening sun.
The moon rose,
and blossomed
full tonight.
Comments1
Did the moon's rising and blossoming take place because you spat out your poison, or rather it rose and enabled/empowered you to spit out your poison?
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.