Poetry

This was an obscene observation, 
seeing through one’s mind 
a terrible happening. 
The naked truth was always dangerous. 
I close the eyes of a beloved day. 
The first lover hovers over 
the trees like an invisible ghost. 
 
By transforming the obsession 
into the wholeness of a metaphor, 
don’t you externalize the center, 
of a theme? Integrity was 
never your forte. 
The light within was fading, 
sheer escape. 
 
I believe in a spring faithful to sun, 
where the searching ends. 
The body melts into melodies, 
and the shooting star of midnight, 
leaves a trail of fire. 
It opens the sky, 
the blade, the freckles.