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.
1 september 2025
wiesiek
1 september 2025
Jaga
29 august 2025
Jaga
29 august 2025
ajw
28 august 2025
absynt
27 august 2025
absynt
24 august 2025
absynt
24 august 2025
absynt
18 august 2025
Jaga
14 august 2025
absynt