Free Verse # 331 (opening the gates of fire)

Come to me on my deathbed,
ask me if you’re too late,
I’ll look at you and smile,
kiss you with my last breath.


Photographer unkown
Photographer unknown

From the nooks of her neck
my poem draws its breath,
a bird inhaling
the expanse of the sky.


Forest deep,
with pine needles
inking the moonlight
into her skin,
rivers gushing womb deep,
poems like moans rolling
white unto my lips.


I love her with the violence
of stars being born,
with the softness of moonlight
sipped in the cup of dawn.


Photographer unknown
Photographer unknown

the gates of fire,
against your breasts
the soft press
of poetry,
two flowering moons
shaking full of mead.

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