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Killing me.

By on • ( 8 ) 

I came back again
the full God, an opus
of your eye; I am her mad 
spring—she wants to see
how far we flay in
our garden beds
and I am your tragedy in diaphanous arms
of the moon growing 
 silhouette 

 rising to the thunderbird;

she’s killing me more
than I ever could

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Categories: Poetry

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8 replies

  1. J. P. K. | J.SYS
    February 22, 2021 • 7:42 am

    Maybe to face it once and for all,
    through god-like sight.
    After a stormy fall,
    shining bright.
    Monsun.

    Liked by 2 people

    Reply ↓

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