Letter, September 29, 2015

I write poetry, but in truth all I do is gather your fragrances like mist over a lake. All I do is hunt for the breaths that have since long left your lips and harness them into bundles of words. And in the process I turn into a moth whose being has disintegrated in the fire of your flame. Thus, I inhabit the ether of your fire, unlocking the secret that birthed life and all the stars.


3 thoughts on “Letter, September 29, 2015

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s