Saturday, February 27, 2010

Tender This

My breast -
the veins in my breast -
numbered and tender
at the bone.

Beneath a graze of dust,
a lattice of wintered branches,
glaze of snow like dust.

How powdered we grow.
Thick with animal cells -
dessicated, insectoid, skeletal remains;
unmoving, transfixed.

We share fairytales, pyjamaed feet dangling,
laze at memory's bedside,
bones tendered,
breast laticed with veins,
irrelevant, powdered with dust.


Blogger Chris Never said...

Evocative and beautifully assembled Moon, 'laze at memory's bedside', love this line

12:51 PM  
Blogger burning moon said...

Thanks. It has nice lines in it, but I don't think it all hangs together very well. It seems disjointed to me.

1:30 PM  

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