National Poetry Day
the rounds of glass
reflect the light
and the care with which
they were polished
on the matt black cube table
between the matt black
cubed couches
from which poets release
winged words to fly about the room
eyes tearbright and lost in myth
breath fluttering in bird breast
the tulips in the gloss vase
with their orange cloth flame
slowly catch fire
reflect the light
and the care with which
they were polished
on the matt black cube table
between the matt black
cubed couches
from which poets release
winged words to fly about the room
eyes tearbright and lost in myth
breath fluttering in bird breast
the tulips in the gloss vase
with their orange cloth flame
slowly catch fire
posted by burning moon at 12:22 PM
1 Comments:
Sounds like an exceedingly cool place for poets to gather and release words, love that analogy by the way.
I could wear my best black ensemble *grin*
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