No Whispers

The drenching of the moon
As midnight drips.
Your auburn cotton sweater,
Never fleece,
Finely knitted.
Your tender neck
Powder-scented.
Peppered Zinfandel in glasses
Toasted dangerously over
Off-white sheets.

The sunny hours yesterday
Betrayed no sign,
No whisperings of glory.

Fleeting tannins
Staining open lips.
Your heated breath
Fermented.

- 3/5/23

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Awaiting Snow

The weighted metal cover Holding high the heavens Settles over And on us Uneasy. We are waiting on a birth. We're unaware and unsure If the tranquillized sky Is actually expecting. Cars in awe will smash And slide off highways. Venerating pipes will swell And bulge And burst. The guilty trees will be bowed down Confessing reverent And snap. And yet, we open arms and stare  Beside ourselves And float up prayers for softest flakes And cloud carpets to drop upon  The filthy earth. - 1/10/25
Read more

Full and Naked

I stagger through your room, A man too drunk On what I thought was water. You are wrapping darkness Like a robe About your body, Never speaking truth And never telling lies Exactly. The blackly cotton sky  Removes its cloudy clothing For a moment, The full and naked moon Now truth enough For everything. - 3/25/25
Read more

Elise in Beige

She wishes She could tan Beneath fluorescent Lights. The constant static Far too soft, The sterile air, The cool cocoon Bathed in beige And calm yet morbid grey, But neutral bland chromatics Never fostered Sprouting wings. That process sounds too gory, Filled with hurt. She hates this Fraudulently promising cage But isn't quite convinced A step away Would lead to green And indigo. She's finished with All pain Forever. She remains, Longing for a window. - 5/16/25
Read more