- Non-Erotic Poetry
- The pendulum swings awry
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whenever fire consumes blank canvases and your eyes
blossom across the silence
of syllables of mirrors
in continuous and uncertain reproduction
face to face until infinity
A blade
an insane edge of death
slitting through a nervure in space
where the topography of heaven is phosphorescent
across from the dahlias and the searchlights
Death is a cold thing, a distant well
with the hollow shape of the hand of men
A reservoir
where jealousy leaves incandescent flames
fierce
and illuminating
No water is like it
No wind so cold
as when your eyes are all that is left
and the blade
- COMMENTS
Anonymousover 18 years agoThis is good poetry and you are to be applauded for attempting such a difficult challenge as I failed miserably!
Anonymousover 18 years agoburns away the lower being...the blade carves what is left into the nexus..well said...bluerains
