Wednesday Poetry: Sanguine

Posted on 04/04/2012 by

0


Now I know the taste
of your lips: it is an ardor.
Sanguine as, what’s left
after the thing itself is gone.
Which proves I’ve lived.

And that’s there
amongst all my treasured phrases.
This is why I write.
For the ambiguity.
And can I describe it?

27 Feb 2005–4 April 2012

 

Posted in: Paul, Poetry