Sun Viewer
by sloanranger
Far below a new moon
she sits,
hair writhing sinuously
around -
tight black curls... then
suddenly, long blond tendrils,
now quick - a bevy of fiery waves.
A sun viewer by name,
she beckons briefly:
enjoy my cup, she seems to say,
but her voice is silent.
She hears in circles —
their tortive,
ovate, songs
wreath around her,
spilling, spiraling
carelessly, all the way
down...
to the sea.
YOU ARE READING
Passing Strange
PoëzieA collection of poetry dealing with love in all its stages. I hope you discover something to your liking.
