Subliminal poetry, nothing more.


Crescent Moon

How strange it is
to lie in utter darkness,
stealth like,
a nipple to the shroud.

And some would say,
it is a lovers smile
aroused by the tepid motion
of a clouds slow caress.

But if I that moon,
that quisling in the night,
I'd lift the mantle, the widows veil,
and move towards a kiss.






Poetry by Ulysses
Read 866 times
Written on 2005-05-30 at 19:45

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chasingtheday The PoetBay support member heart!
a good piece - let the light devour lips as they embrace.
2005-07-02