- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Tempest
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The thunder outside beats like the heart
within, binding conscious rapture into a
parcel of passion. A spring storm brings
life as it renders trees to perish, afterward
the luminous green and dank black commingle
in a joyous dance.
Your lips, kissing the cigarette, beckoning the fire
into your lungs, at once declares the vitality of you
and foreshadows pain and suffering in years to come.
Why? Why, my Lord, my Love, do you play with
the Fates so recklessly? You know that they are jealous,
and suffer not a single man.
Oh, how the Harbingers of Death remind me of you.
Katherine Nora Foster-Morland
*b. 1972*
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