You put this pen
in my hand and you
take the pen from
my hand. the night
before the full moon
the moon seems
full. what is missing
is a dark hungry
sickle, the sliver
of shadow eating
us up inside. after
the mountains breathe
their mint-and-sorrow
green against the long
summer sky, they burst
into hot october
laughter, lighting
the horizon with citrus,
rust, and blood. you
put this knife in my
hand. we pull. we
meet as oceans come
together, heaving
against and clinging
across our salt watery
boundary. we approach
endlessly like two rails
of one track, tied
in a parallel that
promises our eyes to
merge, someplace far
off in the distance. you
put this feather in my
palm. my fingers
close around flight.
wow superb, great, outstanding writings- like to quote the moon seems full. what is missing is a dark hungry sickle, the sliver of shadow eating /// she is really another great one Poetess of America
the sliver of shadow eating us up inside. after the mountains breathe their mint-and-sorrow green against the long summer sky, ............/// excellent poetic writings
it's nice :) 'we approach endlessly like two rails of one track, tied in a parallel that promises our eyes to merge, someplace far off in the distance. you put this feather in my palm. my fingers close around flight.'
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we approach endlessly like two rails of one track, tied in a parallel that promises our eyes to merge, someplace far off in the distance........touching expression with nice theme. Beautiful poem.