Sunday, March 01, 2009

Rose in the Abyss

What one understands of those lonely winters?

In the beehive of beehives, my legs move
In the residue of dreams, I smell her bosom
As I try to snuggle, so I understand
She too is a fantasy, dreamt in solitude

So I pick up a book, lying in the dust of time
My eyes run over hazy words, scribbled by a lonely warrior
Between us, centuries of separation
But the joy is real, so are our agonies

(unfinished poem...can't think further)

Labels: ,