by robby cruz

Your nocturnal heart
slips inside the torn night,
like a tiptoeing child,
and beams of its
unabashed accomplishment.

The dismaying weight has been annihilated.
The decimated curses weep their last winter.

This has all been your lovely doing, woman.

The bedeviled tongues have been curled up,
roped up, daggered up, spun frozen-dead
and thrown into the gasping inferno, at last.

They hiss their every inch of corner.
They fall short in manner with every bloody screech.

These are the things triumph speaks of.
It’s these things that verily flow from maiden lips.

It is in eyes like yours that holy eternity makes its nest.
It’s lips like yours that pump forth serenely aghast hearts.

Finish your residency upon this earth with a knowing, winking eye, my love.

Rest yourself like a gleaming
gift when the last eye on earth
has turned away from
you in shamed inferiority.

Author: Roberto Cruz, Jr

Roberto Cruz, Jr is a local writer, musician, poet and traveler.

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