13 july 2017
Into The Tempest
The dichotomy was complete.
I walk in your tears
to move away.
The night smelt like a
burnt-out doll, and I was
quaking inside like a peony lip.
The sunk baby. You stay
uncovered in half-sleep.
The drag of the noose around-
your neck was evident. I
want to squeeze the pods.
Why did not the pollen meet-
the stigma? The needles are
coming out of the eyes. A prose
is gone. The poem walks in.
17 march 2025
Eva T.
17 march 2025
wiesiek
17 march 2025
absynt
17 march 2025
absynt
17 march 2025
absynt
17 march 2025
ajw
17 march 2025
ajw
15 march 2025
absynt
15 march 2025
absynt
15 march 2025
ajw