HE 1 Poem by Max Temmerman
HE 1
Rating: ★4.0
He did not breathe,
his skin did that.
I entangled myself
with his laurel leaf,
heathenism.
He smelled of dried grass.
Old Testament gold
below a late summer sun.
What I thought to that? Nothing.
Six college years taught me
to be quietly self-educated.
To boil like milk in a skillet.
To yearn.
Thursday, March 7, 2019
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5/6/2026 7:19:53 PM # 1.0.0
Well articulated and nicely penned with conviction. An insightful creation. Thanks for sharing, Max.