9 august 2023
In My Small Fists
You seldom touch
the flames of eyes, when
I believed it was true.
Your hand burns.
Ceremonial. I
pluck the roses in
delirium. O pain-giver
there was beautiful blood.
Cloud, cloud tears
slip for thousand of years
to reach the dry lips of iris.
Why did I go blind?
After the snake bite
you turn blue, a goddess
of forgotten sins, I
will never blame you.
13 may 2025
marka
13 may 2025
marka
13 may 2025
marka
13 may 2025
marka
13 may 2025
marka
13 may 2025
wiesiek
13 may 2025
Eva T.
12 may 2025
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11 may 2025
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9 may 2025
wiesiek