Sunday, October 5, 2014

Mimi-Mona Poetry: Sunday's Murder of Crows

©Sunday's Murder of Crows
Mimi Wolske
Mimi Wolske - Mona Arizona™
October 2014
All Rights Reserved

Sometimes, more often and not,  
I wake wondering Am I a vampire?  
Metallic taste--more than one spot--
covers my teeth; they require 
a sweeping tongue, long on spittle,
short on the blood it can taste.
Teeth clenched, they're almost brittle.
It's what I do at night, lay in waste
and nightmares of you alone,
in Mexico without me,
A murder of crows after your bone
and you cry for me as them you flee.

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