deepundergroundpoetry.com

A Wait

Waiting *prompt

It's absurd
how sense is found
in the shape of pulled shells
before you leave.
Those glimpses of auburn
certainty collected from tinder,
exhaled, that lit up the trees.
King Alfred's cakes
and carbon monoxide
and fresh ash pigments,
smudges of me.

So for next time,
when I'm forest-gone,
how does one retrieve
elergy eggs before cinder nests
become heart-stopping
deserts of sleep?
How does one sink
another in
without going to hell?
Because I'm not sure
I know anything
except how to keep
a phoenix company

And if I stand
on the far side
of garbled greens,
pretending I linger
in the auras of your eyes,
courtside flags
and black knockers,
let lakes of my mind
get lost in ex-tense,
well, I may miss
the superbloom.
Moons of you
shine
in the history
of me
but I am known
to save face.
ImperfectedStone
Written by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
Published
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