Poezja

in love with vermilion 
floating on optics 
 
you learn in moments of insult 
or insults in moment of learning 
 
fishless bones 
still he smels of withering pain 
on black satin 
 
you don’t want to suffer 
with asterisks 
annotation 
disfigurs the essence 
 
i will boil the moon 
to find the separateness 
between scent and grief 
 
i am done 
the poem is over 
death has walked away