Meeting Poem by Maxwell Bodenheim
Meeting
A mood whose heart was a flagon of ashes,
Met another mood whose lips were stained
With the odors of sleeping wine-songs.
The second mood kissed the breast of the first
And filled the ashen flagon with his pale purple breath.
Then the two moods died, and he who bore them,
Being an old man, sat down to make others.
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: meeting
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4/30/2024 4:49:03 AM # 1.0.0.1119
