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One Evening While Smelling the Moon
That ˈSən within you, Moon, came into me.
Earth now fruits, but the decapitating sickle claims
my flesh grows scales untouchable to fire-breathing
serpents saturate near cavern jaws, giant mind-body
vacuum cleaners with vaginal canals descending
into wombs, expelling that Sən―the Sun and Son―
within you, Moon.
Upon her breast, Moon, Earth gives me that forbidden
nectar of Eucharist, the serpent's venom
says: To he whom ˈnōz the Moon, sickles her snares.
very true... :-) your style
very true... :-)
your style very unique on here. like work reading some of it.
i like it, but i do love unique. ~peace~
...............
...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."
"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "