Unchanged
by Magus
These wounds open and tender
They reveal your face to me
Into the chalice of my arms
The blood of your suffering flows free
It's a mild mannered possession;
This waiting for the rain
Encumbered by its spell and
Groggy in the slumbering delay
A scrap of ribbon fallen
From a lover’s hair
Found by the boots of boredom
Lament for things not yet dead
A piece of my soul floats there
Down in the puddle below
Somewhere in a watch pocket
An insane notion explodes
No comments:
Post a Comment