Monica Morante

With every blink
your eyes form
new constellations,
new galaxies.
...

Sweat suddenly tripped from my eyes.
My heart, anchored at the ocean of the lost.
Hold on longer, I cannot;
hold on longer, I was forbidden,
...

Confused, you are.
Bedazzled, I am.
Bemuffling is this feeling.
In wilderness, we are.
...

The storm clouds with all its mighty bows,
hang low with a threat of a hundred blows.
the broken window's woes,
echoing to and fro.
...

And in the end,
when all my heart
was supposed
to taste
...

It was a cold morning of John.
All around was your scent.
The smell of freshly roasted coffee wrapping itself around the gentle hint of lime that was I.
The inevitable bloom of the flowers of Spring whispered to me a screaming conclusion, warning me of my nearing destruction.
...