MoonDance
shot out those black
roses
you watched
women crush feet
under a smeared
moon
eat sweet water or
cry the burn
near sleep
they ask if my
easy road will
part and
leave wintery
arms
you place
around
worried eyes.
1-4-97
[Next Poem]
[words]
[menu]
[mail]
[Back a Poem]
©Denise Angela Celeste