The sorrows of the moon
I would have wedded.
The sorrows of the moon
If she'd of taken my hand:
Blissfully I'd—been her groom.
But; engulf me, now—ocean
Surf above the poundings in my heart.
Roll-out; your cold, locomotion…
I am but flotsam, now, my sweetheart.
In as much as
I am beyond your languid touch
In as much as
With all the sorrows of the moon
In as much as deaths
Piling… sedentary gaze of doom.
It thinly veils even you!
poem by Mark Heathcote
Added by Poetry Lover
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