Innocence
I am tired
of the curdled milk
of Heaven
how it bleaches
bones of the days
without nurturing us.
I am tired of your breasts
drawing me to suckle
under patchy sky.
Hold closed my eyes.
Bathe everything in white.
Blot-out the horizon.
Let me sleep again.
I am tired
of the curdled milk
of Heaven
how it bleaches
bones of the days
without nurturing us.
I am tired of your breasts
drawing me to suckle
under patchy sky.
Hold closed my eyes.
Bathe everything in white.
Blot-out the horizon.
Let me sleep again.
Love this one, Gordon. Thematically and tonally much like my Hue and Cry that's in this issue also. The longing to return to Mother; childhood regression; the weariness of the Human Condition. Beautifully worked here
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