#270 (vanished)

a shred of flowy fabric

deep green like a copse

stuck to a broken mirror

long since clouded

invisible to the eye

it moves between

the poet’s fingers

his wrists adorned by

bracelets of crimson

and as he mouths

his final words

upon the threshold

Erato grants

a closing kiss

 

© Matthias Geh, 18th May 2018

 

 

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