Poezie
Quixotic travail
1 min lectură·
Mediu
[Sourav]
Only in me did this man’s soul
in a rotative windmill likeness sleep.
Into my gale’s leeway side
he stood aeolian
- deflectionless grip.
I even eviscerated his senses
driven mad by this roundabout drift
- he weatherproofed as pipe organ
only to murmur back into me
a thousandfold breathing
of my own uncartographed yet
self-trespass shrift.
Wherever I turned to
off me he refused to flee.
The ultimate contraction
was to have expelled him outwards
along with his obscure whisper
of amniotic words.
*
Madam, this won’t be a new-born soul.
It’s you that verso excrescence.
Let yourself inscribe.
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- Autor
- Veronica Văleanu
- Tip
- Poezie
- Cuvinte
- 101
- Citire
- 1 min
- Versuri
- 23
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