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.