Poetry to sleep with you

Because I don’t find it unbecoming.

Unbecoming would be to spin my head
over a mirage, the curled branches
that disturb it like rays troubling
the resting sky.

A tired traveler eating
from the fallen green pods
to stoke the fires within,
knock at a few more doors.

Maybe this village has the address of his beloved.
Maybe the greeters don’t notice his teeth:
emerald of bare longing, beyond scrub.


5 thoughts on “Poetry to sleep with you

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