deepundergroundpoetry.com
My God Is A Woman
The moon is a glassy eye, hers,
unobscured through a weightless
fog, and I know she sees through
my bedroom window, alabaster
light the span of her gaze.
She is the pull that drags my
rampant thoughts to sleep, and the
"Good morning" and "How did you
sleep?" when I wake. She is
so much more than an idea or a
purpose, but anything and
everything that was, is, and will
be graceful to me. Her words are
heavy and her touch is light. The
room smells of grenadine when she
speaks from her castle of stars,
both thousands of miles away and
right into my awaiting ears. My
hands tremble, struggling to carry the
weight of her words, when she
offers me a third and a fourth. There
is no signpost pointing to me saying,
"He is broken, please fix or salvage,"
but she knows. She always knows.
Published 8th Mar 2015
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