Moth
Deepest blue of your eyes, shoulders covered with pitch
of your hair, little moth, I can't tempt you, I preach
My illusions and dreams, there is tremble of palm,
And my fire in chest is so wrong, I am numb.
Little moth, little moth, oh, desirable lips,
I have flown to the sky, Heaven's empty, it tips
me to be not so glad. I have smelt scent of dreams,
I was fond of you so just one moment it seems.
I am strange I'm unseen and I laugh at myself
And my mark can't be found in the grass. You're my wealth:
Deepest blue of your eyes, shoulders covered with pitch
of your hair, little moth, I can't tempt you, I preach.
Copyright © Serge Lyrewing | Year Posted 2016
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment