Poetry

The time will not heal. The 
aging looks. Erotica. Each 
scream ends in a dry river. 
Who had the right to deliver 
the needle and a silk thread? 
 
Sometimes I will read you for 
the signs of remorse. There 
was this rigid wrinkle which 
will not move on the face. 
 
It will not matter if the grief 
overwhelms. The scare was 
real. Regurgitation. The bell 
will not ring today. The pod 
splits to release the seeds. 
 
Come my mentor. I have tested 
the floor, smelled the rope. The 
translation should end tonight.