Killing me.

I came back again
the full God, an opus
of your eye; I am her mad 
spring—she wants to see
how far we flay in
our garden beds
and I am your tragedy in diaphanous arms
of the moon growing 

 rising to the thunderbird;

she’s killing me more
than I ever could

© 2021 All Rights Reserved

8 thoughts on “Killing me.”

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