He is like a coupling of words,
Separate in definition and diction
Yet striving to meet and mate,
To hinge one onto the other and
Feast there till each word in its Crone-phase
Becomes new through union.
Like milk thistle.
The white tears of soft
Wet milk nourish as the
Harsh emerald prick of
Thorn bleeds you while
You drink.
He is me.
He is she.
He is you.
Enough
3 months ago
3 comments:
This is something very different, and I like it!!! I have found you, and now I can check your stuff!!! How have you been?
Love it! Can I borrow your brain for a day? I don't want to use my blog idea list.
You've blown me away from the first line alone. And then the second, and the third... In fact, the whole first stanza is one of the most exceptional I've read in a while.
Mighty fine work, this. ;) Cheers.
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