white: whips like its many
a name,
divines in it still,
my eyes pure engulfed in
the silence;
white: which sound
spills the sud of women
sitting by the river
looming clean sheets purulent
with the Earth's gruel;
white:
oh, by the
window,
heart's ****** tillage or
a word unspoken sinking
in postponement, a moth's
glide in perpetual motion
white, many days,
fewer nights,
earth sways to crystalline
a tear to light a face
of beauty once
tarnished black with
the blood of roses.
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 1:25 AM UTC
white: whips like its many
a name,
divines in it still,
my eyes pure engulfed in
the silence;
white: which sound
spills the sud of women
sitting by the river
looming clean sheets purulent
with the Earth's gruel;
white:
oh, by the
window,
heart's ****** tillage or
a word unspoken sinking
in postponement, a moth's
glide in perpetual motion
white, many days,
fewer nights,
earth sways to crystalline
a tear to light a face
of beauty once
tarnished black with
the blood of roses.
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