Poetry

Half-mooned I have left the envy. 
The basic instinct of lesser love 
for my failing god. 


Come to me, my cloaked enemy, 
a sweet lover of pain 
in the milky hours. 


Mother of seeds was far away 
and you wanted to suck on the 
pollen from the wings of honeybees. 


Soft and cruel, I cannot leave you 
nor I can abandon the post. 
The war cry was coming nearer. 


Was it a virginal drink to – 
placate the lips of a flame? 
Time will never know the ultimate.