SHADOWEDSILVERGLARE

with a heart(broken)
knee, i bend low—
am i, your subject,
to love’s silent blow?
all that is as clear
as the whispered “moon”
falling softly from
your lips’ sweet tune.

conception raised her flag
high above the stream,
where creatures bathed in
their unloved dream.
commoner-kings, with wonder
now spent,
began to weep, their
nakedness bent.

“oh, the soft stars of november
are loved!” they cried.

the stigma, a shadowed-
silverglare, i screamed,

“my binding strong! my
smooth white pages! all my
blood and love, i have
fed and raised…”

the mouths of syntax
devour
m
e

:: 11-21-2016 ::
:: REV – 08.21.2024 ::