esta noche

rosewood arm wrapped tight

moon slice robin egg blue black freckles

beyond the shadow of the spider’s web silvery dew hangs

the heart stopped years ago so quiet it is the invisible steps of the spiders weaving up their net amplified in the violet breeze

my glance molded inside the grip of the cup bitter and heavy

life weeps through the slits of my old old eyes

breath too weak to move spider threads evaporate into a darkness

mbrazfield (c) 2020

11 thoughts on “esta noche

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