In the savannah of mice
stretching across your flickering eyelids
a tail is a scepter
and your reign is complete.
In the seventeenth year of life
"Sir Senescence" becomes an endearment
bestowed upon a familiar form
and that gaze of emerald constancy
forever burnishing my heart.
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A Microcosm of the World
3 hours ago
2 comments:
It's been a while since I've seen, anywhere, perfection like this first stanza. But I love the whole poem.
Thank you, Rebekah. A paean to Smokey.
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