The Axis of Thought
Hunters' lutes cried too but
thought was not rotating about the axis.
No matter her teasing favors were a source of pride for her.
No matter her bitter timeworn lancets were observers of my emotions.
She forgot lively magical moments.
My breath's flavored buds
Fell down from the branch
dissolving in the haughtiness of her blood.
Wearing my ear's rags I wander a lot.
Moments remained crying
in the sleepy tomb.