Poetry

Waiting for a supermoon 
like Aphrodite. 
I translate my twinge 
into moonlight. 
 
The speed now hurts. 
I want to go slow in dark, 
Like wayward feet ambulating towards a carnivore. 
 
It was not fair to call for 
the soft snow, 
when my eyes start 
surging like a natural spring. 
 
You had almost eaten me 
alive with black fingers. 
I did not sin, you come like 
thunder making me deaf.