• Your neighbourhood poet


Sleep followed. All I can remember

Is the insignia, carpets of colour undone

To reveal the restless roots that once gave birth

To a dying tree; bark brown as hidden praise

And its leaves wet with sullen whispers

Of an expired promise. I do, I do.

I wish I could take them back, the words

That have haunted me ever since, wedding

Bells crashing into powdery tufts

Of loosened hair. His face pressed against a sky

Of fevered tulips, mine; perhaps

It was for the best. Perhaps, like all broken marriages,

Ours was too early. Too slow. Already dead.

Whitish sheets soiled with blood, the seal

Of an erudite love- faded, unpardoned, and yet beholden

To new life in my navel, its only beckonings those

Of ruin. Your father is still asleep.

Subscribe not to miss interesting stufF
Happy Reading!
© 2020 tempestuously-yours