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- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Darkroom
Poem Info
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Holding the metaphor up
to the infra-red light,
I feel it slip between
my thumb and forefinger.
It doesn't want to develop,
preferring to sleep in its bath,
where I can watch its images
form into the unanticipated,
releasing a swarm of moths
to circle the light generated
as it burns in my fingers.
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1 Comments
Anonymousalmost 18 years agoquirky
This is a fun but quirky piece. I liked the ending a lot.
Mentioned in today's new poem reviews.
