the iron gate sings of roses,
water and moon tremble and sigh,
the night breathes in its water colours,
shadowy and whimsical like a bird of
dark air,
its eye-sockets the moon-world
of dream,
its clouds the stream-golds of
the glistening, eventide moon.
no more poems now until saturday, but bizarrely my husband messaged me a poem today - the only one he's written in the last 30 odd years and he's said i can post it. (i'm so in love with his poem right now) - was it about me? you'll have to wait to find out :))) hahaha
