Moving Narrative

Somewhat immodestly,

Reticence is a bourgeois affectation anyway,

I studied the cypresses and olive groves dried,

To exhibit the canvass of desire,

On afternoons, a cup,

And in the nights of belonging, a snore

Accompanied, me.

Deserved a mention,

A sign of a registered letter,

A name said, to be called.

And care unfettered, yet.


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *