Moontide and fire


confluent with winter’s moon

my internal discourse

with you leaves me

a gibbering mess,

so very real

yet imagined

as I haven’t spoken

to you in years.

I still find I

pantomime the flower

of words you left,


I’ve grown callous

to groans from

under the stairs

I left some things

down there,


I’ve become accustomed

scent of Asian pear

jasmine in air,


cups of tea

honey shared

in garden flames

spared, you rest


25 thoughts on “Moontide and fire

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