Poetry

‘Twas your ghost
to secure the promise,
that you would not commit
yourself to the story.

An island sin
confronts the sea
of tears. Was it an
emotional kill?

Did you hear the
sound of moon? It has
come down in the space
where we used to cross the arms.

That was my raw poem.
I had mentioned your solemn
departure. I don't believe
in blaspheme. God would know.

Fever for no misdemeanor.
We walk away on our
different paths.