A Sanguine Tear.
I think for these poems, I’m just going to let them speak for me, so this is probably the last of the pre-poem rambles for a while.
.
A line of fire blossoms
Across my arm
Like a field of red poppies
After the war
A finger of blood weeps out
Out of the blaze
And wanders along my flesh
A sanguine tear
.
The Lonely Recluse.
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The Lonely Recluse
