i love this (this hopeless delirium)

the moonlight
is touching
the pale lace
of one curtain

(touching my face)
something begs me
and tugs
like a flushed nymph
please, please

(a love that i love) but vague,
like the stranger in the bed
with green eyes; also hazel
because they glaze with
when angry
(not the anger, of humans.
a subterranean anger
reserved for a beautiful

and i've never enjoyed a storm before
but i enjoy you.
i like you and your
rough hands

dipping into my blood that sings
to pluck out two silver rings
that i will give to you.

Poetry by anguisette
Read 932 times
star mini Editors' choice
Written on 2008-10-01 at 19:12

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