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Love-carved cloth
poetry [ ]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
by [Moon_Princess ]

2005-06-05  |     | 



Reach his ear with a piercing whisper,
Should he not wake to-morrow at the dawns,
Fold his white bones in snow and blister,
Whilst the flesh would squirm and moan

Bear the sweet scented funeral cloth
The fragrance is his, the kisses he laid,
Yet distance carves heart with a moth
My life which he cuddled in grave…

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