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windsor-i-guadalupe-jrPoems
a room full of grandmothers, night-gold — espials of eyes syncopated. take this thread and fissure me love-struck. tenderly the walls are white, the mood: all malaise of trees in autumn. Christ's redness in hymns ho-hum angelward as rain brings a discalced memory close to sand by shores of repeated waves, where the gull tirelessly punctuates the water with its centric beak. all youngness and beautiful rising like cunning equinox, slow auburn of eternities commits to angels denied. sharing something a memory would espouse in lips dry like tropics, looking down on familiar abandon, reaching out with their hands and making no sound, felt yet always, in tender hours of night.
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Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 10:27 PM UTC
Room Full Of Grandmothers
a room full of grandmothers, night-gold — espials of eyes syncopated. take this thread and fissure me love-struck. tenderly the walls are white, the mood: all malaise of trees in autumn. Christ's redness in hymns ho-hum angelward as rain brings a discalced memory close to sand by shores of repeated waves, where the gull tirelessly punctuates the water with its centric beak. all youngness and beautiful rising like cunning equinox, slow auburn of eternities commits to angels denied. sharing something a memory would espouse in lips dry like tropics, looking down on familiar abandon, reaching out with their hands and making no sound, felt yet always, in tender hours of night.
For Grandma Doring
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windsor-i-guadalupe-jr
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windsor-i-guadalupe-jr
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 10:27 PM UTC
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