Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jul 2023
a Mouth remains open--

never having hungered

after space.

a matador is in it--his

figure cannot be seen at

all.

though he is still there.

the bull he dances with

is still there.

they are a floating heap

of red roses--whose petals

disappear into their own

impaling *****.

as a cape would.
Onoma
Written by
Onoma  NYC
(NYC)   
Please log in to view and add comments on poems