Brow of dews
the immortal forms of limbo
heated horns, behind now

golden dawns, parting
&
I’d never see the daylight again

into the glistening of a dry heartache,
the blood stain,
of love that is offered
too many times before

but the joy fits
victory of less, mine
triumph of more, hers

The nursing of earth
pale plucks of dusk

& in sombre knots
bound the gaze of
“ I miss you “ &
of shallow
ends of “ I’m always here “

where the warmth
of this hollowed chasm
crushed & unbraided
from the limbs of
her folded valleys —

© D C de Oliveira || May 4 2018 || Friday 7.37am

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