Moreover, The Moon ---

Face of the skies
over our wonder.

truant of heaven
draw us under.

Silver, circular corpse
your decease
infects us with unendurable ease,

touching nerve-terminals
to thermal icicles

Coercive as coma, frail as bloom
innuendoes of your inverse dawn
suffuse the self;
our every corpuscle become an elf.

by Mina Loy

Comments (2)

I like how you wrote this poem Mina
white-hot. chocolate. cause it's that good. SusxGLx