Poetry

Come and meet me in chamber of death 
where the tempest comes every night. 
 
I start disrobing the anger 
to find the eye of the moon. 
 
Where do I get that ink that 
writes an unwritten poem on water 
of eyes when the ship was 
burning after a rare landing. 
 
Come and meet me in sleep of an infant. 
 
It was time to start a dialogue 
with golden death sitting on the 
greed of man. The lips were extracting 
the other honey from frozen moon. 
 
Come and meet me in merciless sun.