whispers doubt &
memory these
pushnail hands to
rust on through &
twistgrind bone to
raindrop splash
my naked face
who cares for
tonight tonight
when something
rests between
fold & trench
forgotten in
butterfly dream?
there is no love
betangled of song
only—
only
5 responses to “only”
Like that abrupt ending keeping us in suspense.
Thanks. 🙏
Yes, those tiny whispers which undermine everything we hold to be true.
Great poem, Michael.Thanks again, Chris. Which truth shall we explore tonight? 😉
Ha! Exactly!
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