Thursday, March 25, 2010


The moon is breathing down my neck
A slender piece of moon
Like a half eaten slice of water melon
White, snowy, sliver of icicle
Slides down the cheek of the sky
Closer to me, so that
I can lick it drop by drop
With my tongue of flame
Till I burn it down to ashes
And make her mine
So that there is no disc
Of silver
Tickling me from atop
And breathing down my neck
So says the Sun of the North Pole

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