Wednesday, 13 May 2015

Poem 73

i call the night
with claws that tear
bare skin
animal conscious begin


then try as he might
its image
waits for horizons
sharp display


a sound of life
ticks quietly by
and a hand
graced a thigh


a wolf howls
its eye burns
tattoos upon
flesh to consume


its my turn, thunder
i see words might
glass rattles
the self titled night


and now to home
its journey never done
but tonight
i will call you love

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