Waxing Cold

Glow
of candle
like watered milk, flickering;

moths,
motley-hued and
powder-winged, fluttering;

heart
taut, pulsating,
like a frenzied song;

tossing and turning
on the bed
that seems a rock on my bare back

as i wait
endlessly
for the fire of your fingers

to kindle
the embers within my heart

endlessly,
yet i wait.

by uche peter umez

Comments (0)

There is no comment submitted by members.