I don't say his name
the punishment drains me
like sand pulled by tide
over my toes. I sink in and grab on.
Naked
hope suffers
morning manna left uncollected
thoughtlessly discarded.
I decay like that.
I no longer touch you
our story will not end with your leaving.
Lay me down on your cold bed, sheets
pressed perfect.
The moon adorns the roof as
light winnows in I play on my
dungeon floor after one of our storms.
I am the sacrificial altar
momentary calm. Balmy flowers tremble
before the new day greets us.
I hold dew on a platter.
I remember all this,
you are still mine.
D. Claudia Ash
January 5, 2005
Posted by poetry/muse6165
at 12:45 AM EST
Updated: Sunday, 02/20/2005 12:55 AM EST
Post Comment | Permalink | Share This Post
Updated: Sunday, 02/20/2005 12:55 AM EST
Post Comment | Permalink | Share This Post