In that unwillingness
I hold my poverty
Keeping secure
The coffin of pain
What gain will
I procure
If in chance meet
I approve thy countenance
In what hue, will
Thee colour
My darkness
Resembling new Moon
What joy thee do
Thy embroidery
Pricking my
Yarn of breath
What utility I earn
Venom subdued
I wobble, my
Journey last
In that unwillingness
I accord thy wish
All fangs and hood
I buzz thy hollow silence
No comments:
Post a Comment