Poetry

Without assent 
I open your book 
to find your crazy god on mat. 
 
Love was a blind bird 
in a state of agony. 
Learning to fly. 
 
Moon would not reply 
through aslant door. 
Something was between us. 
 
Here, now a sordid tale 
breaks the taboo. They 
were investing on skin. 
 
It was a cheap wine 
in a golden chalice, 
for a lipless mouth.