She Folds

My own dear friend,
I wait here, smiling at
your hair, as it blindfolds you,
You’re strangled with joy,
My words prance beneath feet,
I love you in this light.

Struck with roots of
time, and a bottle of wine
had vanished last night,
Are you heavy with fear?
Let me birth the giant,
Let me take your hand,
Breathe deep, and push
at your mind;
It tries to feed,
but lacks the hands
and sight.

The burial is bittersweet,
You said a prayer once,
And I’m reminded of this.
But there you now stand
in my eye, watching
a cloud go by;
If it’s colder, I don’t mind,
I am the beholder.

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed