What dew on the petal,
Who’s moisture before,
Found solace in my uncertain plight?
She of soft flesh,
Her black and white sense,
Will I see her again,
In the stars of the night?
Ideas do drown in spasms of light,
Where poems lay down to die,
But I,
I am slight,
One with, but apart from the night.
Dec 26, 2022
Dec 26, 2022 at 7:27 PM UTC
What dew on the petal,
Who’s moisture before,
Found solace in my uncertain plight?
She of soft flesh,
Her black and white sense,
Will I see her again,
In the stars of the night?
Ideas do drown in spasms of light,
Where poems lay down to die,
But I,
I am slight,
One with, but apart from the night.