|
The Book of Scorpio
by Alison Eastley
|
You dressed
like any black winter's night
and escaped
before I had time to tell you
how much I hate you.
It may be true the sea laps shattered
peace with salt
stinging an undefined attitude
when you promised
you wouldn't wear black
without the pride of an artist.
The effect
was more precious than revenge.
You phoned
to say you
wanted me back and all you got
was explosive
sounds of silence
frozen
deep in scorpionic sea.
|
 |
 |
|