deepundergroundpoetry.com
Moments
Your chaste sun-tipped fingers,
the blinding of your eyes,
how is it I never knew you before?
The moon-flecked range of your
sound from deep within caves
reverberates the ribs of shipwrecks.
I tread the curves of night that wash
ashore each hour while moments
linger like seaweed in the shallows.
the blinding of your eyes,
how is it I never knew you before?
The moon-flecked range of your
sound from deep within caves
reverberates the ribs of shipwrecks.
I tread the curves of night that wash
ashore each hour while moments
linger like seaweed in the shallows.
Published 26th Nov 2015
| Edited 20th Jan 2020
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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27th Nov 2015 7:02pm
28th Nov 2015 9:09am
