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Detecti Pus Poem
Into the patterned tile and out the swirl,
So does my conviction spiral,
Towards the sun-twinkled edge,
Warmer and warmer do the eyes burn,
Where I can't trace with the tongue.
From behind to beside to opposite you,
So is the path of my conviction,
As you evolve only in perspective,
It is still you I am fixated on,
But your stasis deems me strange.
Away from the center, towards the edge,
There is the dome of my conviction,
The wind on your shawl waves me away,
And when I reach for it's familiar fringe,
My hands come away bloodied.
Copyright © Detecti Pus | Year Posted 2025
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