I am the blanket of you.
The orange-warmth.
Your hand.
My Self decomposes itself.
Flies away.
Is the Wind.
Under the Moon I saw your face.
Canopy face.
Jungle moths most beautiful.
Your eyes like tornadoes.
When you sleep—the treasure of you I keep
As a dragon.
A drum I beat,
For you.
To wake you up after death.
I am the blanket of you.
Your safety net.
Your hand.
You will not fry.
You will not fry.
You will not fry.
::: ::: :::
[Picture: The blanket of you by reading_is_dangerous]
The orange-warmth.
Your hand.
My Self decomposes itself.
Flies away.
Is the Wind.
Under the Moon I saw your face.
Canopy face.
Jungle moths most beautiful.
Your eyes like tornadoes.
When you sleep—the treasure of you I keep
As a dragon.
A drum I beat,
For you.
To wake you up after death.
I am the blanket of you.
Your safety net.
Your hand.
You will not fry.
You will not fry.
You will not fry.
::: ::: :::
[Picture: The blanket of you by reading_is_dangerous]
Posts
Rayon du Soleil brûlant.
ReplyDeleteLa Lune se reflète grâce au Soleil.
A- "Cautious Bond Poem"
I love the image, & the poem is a wonder. It was so warm here today, I noticed a yellow butterfly out for a flight in the spring singing wind. Be Blessed.
ReplyDeleteyes, this is so beautiful, the sounds of it, too, powerful evocations. but why the frying image at the end, why fry, not die or cry...
ReplyDeleteyou will not fry
you will not cry
you will not die
you will not
not in vain
not without a flutter
of the moths'
frail wings